


Cherry Blossoms

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Breakfast, Brothers, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky needs a hug, Cherry Blossoms, Childhood Friends, Clumsy Clint, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hate at First Sight, Healing, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, James Barnes - Freeform, Lots of Crying, Love at First Sight, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Oblivious, Past Abuse, Pining, Polyamory - freeform, Protective Pepper, Research labs, Scars, Tattoos, The Twins - Freeform, Threesome - freeform, University, Winterhawk Week, ace!Clint, friends - Freeform, love and hate, whose ass is better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winterhawk Week 2015<br/>~<br/>One autumn afternoon, Clint meets a stranger on the subway. It sends him in a whirlwind of emotion, new people and surprising discoveries.<br/>~<br/>If the ace thing turns you away, don't let it. Just ask yourself, what if James Barnes and Bucky Barnes were... well, read it and find the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This work will have 8 chapters, and I'll be posting one each day, for each of the themes on [Winterhawk Week](http://winterhawkweek.tumblr.com/).  
> I'll be updating tags as we go along.

The subway station is relatively quiet when Clint boards and the train car has very few passengers for a weekday afternoon. Clint is just happy to find a place to sit. He's been on his feet all day running around the Shield U campus, trying to learn the layout. He's been fortunate to win a grad scholarship, and even though he has to commute across town every day, he's excited about the TA position that his advisor has offered him. Autumn is rolling in fast and Clint only has a couple of weeks to prepare for the classes, even though prof. Banner has assured him Clint will just be practicing solving elementary mechanics problems with first years. It's easy enough as a subject, especially since Clint is going to work on a degree in quantum physics. In all, it's been a good, fulfilling day, and the tiredness Clint feels is the satisfying kind. There's been a smile on Clint's face since noon and he can't quite wipe it off.

He's got just a few more stops until home when he looks up and notices the guy sitting across from him. He seems about Clint's age, maybe a little older, as he hugs his backpack on his lap, with ratty jeans and snickers, a faded overshirt. His fingers are ink stained, hair dark and long, falling over his shoulders. It would be a very forgettable ensemble if it weren't for his eyes, almost gray under the neon lights of the car. Clint can't look away, mesmerized by the pull of that gaze. It's a caress right into Clint's core.

He has to remind himself to breathe, and it shifts Clint's focus over the stranger's face. It's not less beautiful than his eyes, a hint of stubble on his chin, another smudge of ink on his right cheekbone.

The man smiles. Small, tentative, but it sends a wave of warmth through Clint's bones, and he finds himself return it. Clint gives a brief thought to how maybe the guy is just staring blankly into space, but the slight pink that colors his cheeks tells Clint that he had been indeed the object of observation here. He wonders how long the man had been watching before Clint's noticed.

The train stops and more passengers shuffle in, obstructing Clint's line of sight. He only manages glimpses of the man for the next few stops, but he's not looking at Clint anymore, frowning at his hands as they twist the material of the backpack, lower lip held tightly between his teeth. The tinny ding announcing the next station distracts Clint, there's only one more stop for him, and when he raises his eyes again, the man is standing near the door, ready to get off.

Clint stills, his breath lodging in his chest, because _no_. This can't be it. There's a deep need to do something, say something, _connect_. Clint can't be sure reaching out to a complete stranger would be welcome, though, so he sits there trying to muster up enough courage. Too soon the doors open, and the man looks back at Clint, a tinge of reluctance in his eyes, before stepping out.

It propels Clint out of his seat, and he almost trips himself with the strap of his messenger bag in his hurry. He's one foot on the platform when a dark shadow catches in the corner of his eye, passing him by to enter the train. It's him, the ink-stained stranger, returning to the car, but Clint's already out. He turns to see the man watching him large eyed from behind closing doors, and Clint gapes, unbelieving.

The train slowly starts to move, and the guy quickly raises both palms, then points down with an index finger. _'Wait here.'_

Clint nods, numb. But then... then his heart rabbits in his chest, as the train car disappears from view, and he almost doubles over, clutching at his chest.

 _Aw, no._ No, he can't start crushing on a stranger just by looking at his stupid gray eyes. Except that he already is, and Clint inhales slowly, a few times, trying to tone down the sudden infusion of affection. He's going to wait, see what the man wants. It's too early to jump to any sort of conclusion, and letting himself hope is just a recipe for disillusion.

So Clint turns to face the return line on the other side of the platform. He stifles any further thoughts toward the guy, but when he walks out of the next train, Clint's heart still skips a beat.

He stops in front of Clint, less than an arm's length away, holding with both hands onto the strap of his backpack, and chewing at his lower lip. Clint's never really wanted to kiss anyone before, but he wants to kiss _this guy_. It's startling.

"Hi," Clint breathes.

The man laughs with a huff, hanging his head. He waves a finger between himself the tracks behind Clint in explanation, shoulders shaking slightly.

Yeah, he's right, they're ridiculous. It pulls relieved laughter out of Clint, too, because that's confirmation enough that the guy was doing the same as Clint, trying not to miss _this_ , whatever it is. So they're standing there, laughing like idiots in the middle of the platform, but it's so delightful, Clint can't find it in himself to care.

"Hi," the guy says with a deep breath, finally looking up, his mouth still curved in a smile. "James," he adds, extending a hand and Clint grips it.

"Clint," he returns, and then his mouth decides to take over without further input. "I know a coffee shop nearby, let's go."

But James' smile doesn't falter, just turns into a smirk. "Sure of ourselves, aren't we?"

Clint shrugs, rolling with it. "Hey, you chased after me."

"I backtracked," James raises a finger, " _you_ chased."

But they're already moving toward the exit, as if they're both accustomed with the way to Clint's favorite coffee place.

"The Hourglass?" Clint asks.

"Yeah," James says, turning raised eyebrows to Clint. "You know it?"

"I live in the same building."

"I've never seen you there," James comments as they follow the sidewalk.

Clint rolls his eyes. "I might have gotten banned for showing up one too many times in pajamas."

"How are you going to buy me coffee then?"

"Who says I'm buying?"

James shifts his backpack. "Well, I did ride two extra stops for you."

"Yeah, you did," Clint repeats, still amazed, and he looks at James walking next to him.

Sudden pain in his shoulder jolts Clint, and reflex alone saves him from planting his face into the pole he's currently half-hugging. Dammit.

"This did not happen," Clint says before daring to look up.

Just then James lets out an inelegant snort, and he covers his mouth with his hand. He's laughing behind his fingers, quietly, eyes alight with mirth, that Clint can't stop accompanying it. Soon, the chuckles subside, and James is looking at Clint with sudden seriousness.

"Hey," he starts, stepping closer. "This is freaking me out a bit, but I... uh, we..." he bites at his lover lip again, "yeah?"

"Yeah," Clint breathes, they have to talk, meet again, try, see where it goes. "Give me your number," he asks and James hurries to pull out his phone.

They exchange contact information right then and there, before resuming their way to the coffee shop.

The place is just the same, neither crowded, nor empty, and Pepper, the owner, gives him the stink eye as he walks in. It turns into raised eyebrows when she sees James, and she nods, but squints her eyes in warning.

Pepper's amazing. She has a sort of gentle kindness that always manages to impress others. Clint's known her since he was seventeen and living on his own. She'd given him a low rent room in the building, fed him, supported him when things had gotten tough, and she'd even introduced him to his advisor a few months back, after he'd finished his masters. He needs to do something for her, to show her how much she means to him, even though nothing would ever match up to what she's done for him in the past seven years. Coming down to help scrub the place clean every night never feels enough.

"What are you having?" he asks James after they claim Clint's favorite sofa in the corner.

"Coffee."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "What kind?"

It earns him a confused look. "Coffee coffee? Wait, you like those diabetes inducing concoctions, don't you?"

"Hey, all this sweetness 's gotta come from somewhere," Clint waves at himself before moving to the counter to get their order.

Pepper smirks at him questioningly as she prepares his two cups, and Clint shrugs. "Just met him," he whispers.

She gives him a look that's part ' _go get'em_ ,' part ' _be careful_ ,' and Clint grins. Pepper shakes her head with a huff before handing over the drinks.

"One pitch black coffee," Clint says, placing a cup in front of James. "Warning, might cause darkening of the soul," he adds.

"You don't say," James deadpans before taking a sip.

Clint sits down next to him, and any witty comeback he might have had fades away into oblivion at the sight. Late afternoon sunlight falls on James' face from the side, stretching the shadows of his long lashes over his cheekbones. There's still a dark smudge on his skin. Clint forces an inhale.

"You got..." he says, circling his index finger around his own cheek.

James' hand shoots up, and he runs his knuckles over the stain. "Yeah, it's not gonna come off," he huffs a small embarrassed laugh, as if he'd forgotten it was there. "I'll try some solvent at home," he adds, and then looks at his own fingers, all tinted black, before tucking them inside his palm.

It feels like there's a story there, something hidden, something sad.

"One of the kids spilled an ink pot," James continues in explanation. "I'm teaching a summer class at Shield."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

"Cartoon drawing." James' face lights up. "It's fun, except for the little accidents," he wiggles his fingers. Whatever thoughts had passed through his mind earlier seem to be already forgotten.

"I'm starting my PhD there in two weeks," Clint grins. "Never taught anything before, it's a little scary."

"You _should_ be scared, they smell fear," comes back, tone all too serious, and Clint huffs. "What are you studying?"

"Quantum mechanics."

"Egh, get that away from me," James mock shudders, but then he smiles at Clint. "My brother's doing the same, he's going in his third year," he adds, "I can put you in touch if you need teaching advice."

That would actually be great. Clint had studied at State, so he knows no one there, except for his professor.

"Could you," he says and James nods. "What's he doing?"

"Something engineering," James winces. "Sorry, I usually zone out when it involves math."

Clint dumps three packets of sugar in his latte with a shrug, making James shake his head.

"So what do you do when you're not being drawn on by kids?" Clint asks before taking a sip.

"Mostly freelance comics," James scratches the back of his head. "It's more boring than it sounds."

"Hah, no. I can't even draw a straight line longer than two inches."

It's true, Clint can't, and it's always been an issue, especially since he has to draw diagrams and plots on a regular basis.

James smiles at him, the same way he did on the train. Clint's chest tightens.

~

"All right boys, time to close up," Pepper's voice comes from the side.

Clint looks up and when did it get dark. They must have been talking for three hours already. The coffee shop is already deserted around them. James apologizes, flustered, and they make plans to meet again before he leaves.

Clint starts lifting chairs on tables, while Pepper approaches, arms crossed around a broom handle. He can feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his head.

"Name?"

"James."

"Age?"

"Twenty seven."

"Occupation?"

"Artist."

"Criminal record?"

"Pepper," he turns, hands raised, "come on."

But she just rolls her eyes. "Did you tell him?"

Clint did not, and he shakes his head. It's not like he avoided it on purpose, but it just never came up. They've been geeking over comics and movies. He should though, and soon, before he grows even more attached.

"You have to," Pepper says gently, coming closer. "I think he really likes you."

"He might not," Clint bites the inside of his cheek. That's why he never gets past the second date.

"Hey, give yourself a little credit," she wraps an arm around his shoulders. "He was looking at you like you were air."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Pepper smiles, "and you were looking at him like he was that piece of pie I saved for you." It has the intended effect of making Clint laugh. "When will you see him next?"

"Saturday, we're going on a campus tour. He went there for his degree and knows all the good food places."

Pepper nods. "Oh, by the way, Bruce called, he said he forgot to get your phone number."

"I'll email." Prof. Bruce Banner is notoriously absent minded.

They go back to cleaning, and Pepper turns the radio up. Clint can't wipe the stupid smile off his face, he knows it, and nothing can dim it right now. Not even the fact that he has never quite figured out the best way to tell someone he's asexual. Well, baby steps, he thinks, humming along with the music.

~

When he enters his apartment, he finds Natasha sprawled on the sofa with a tub of icecream. She's been his roommate for four years, and his best bud ever since.

"You look happy," she says as Clint sits next to her.

"Met a guy," he grins.

"Good for you."

Clint takes her in. She looks a bit ruffled, and there's an ice pack resting on the coffee table. "You ok?"

"Yeah," she sighs, sticking the spoon in icecream. "Pulled a muscle because Assberg demands what he demands."

That's the director of her newest production. Natasha's the most graceful ballerina Clint's ever seen, but now she's doing something more modern, a mix of dancing and theater. It's supposed to be the next big thing in the performance world.

Clint grabs the container when she extends it, shoves a spoonful in his mouth. "I'm fucked, Tash," he mumbles.

She snorts. "That bad, huh?"

Clint swallows and takes a deep breath.

"Tell me all about it," she scoots closer, before taking the icecream back.

~


	2. Hate at First Sight

Two weeks pass in the blink of an eye. Clint alternates between pouring over his teaching materials and meeting up with James. It's incredibly comfortable being next to him. They hold hands, but James doesn't push for more. And seeing how they never seem to run out of talk topics, it's not a surprise that Clint never gets a chance to have a more serious conversation. He finds himself falling deeper and deeper, his worries dissipating with it until they're somewhere in the back of his mind.

It's a couple days before classes start, when Clint is waiting to meet James and his brother at the Hourglass. Clint's been fiddling with the sugar packets on the counter (Phil, who's on shift today has been grumbling about it), lost in daydream, when he _somehow_ manages to fling one of them in the air. He catches it, though, but accidentally elbows the customer that's currently placing his order.

"Shit, sorry!" Clint turns, and there's a guy bending over to retrieve the wallet he's most likely dropped.

The man stands, and wow. James looks great with short hair. Clint had no idea he was going to cut it.

"Hey," Clint smiles.

But James scowls. "Learn to keep the sticks to yourself," he mutters, "uncoordinated idiot."

It's like being doused in cold water. Clint's stomach drops and his chest aches as if his heart wants to rip itself out. Across the counter, Phil performs a tactical retreat. Clint hopes he's not calling Pepper, but he can't muster the strength to stop him, because everything _hurts_. He thought James was different.

"Asshole," he manages, his voice shaky, and there's already pricking behind his eyes.

"Oh, hey, you're already here," comes from the side in James' gentle tone.

Clint turns, slowly, because he's clearly hearing things.

But James is there, smiling, his hair still long, his overshirt still faded. Clint looks back at the other guy, takes better notice of his neat clothes, a tight blue henley under his jacket and washed out jeans. His face is James' face, though. Fucking _twins_.

There's incredible relief, because of course James wouldn't treat him like that, and Clint's knees go week. He leans into the counter.

"Are you ok?" James asks, his hand tentative on Clint's shoulder.

The twin's scowl turns into a glare, like he wants to murder Clint. What's his fucking problem?

"Yeah," Clint nods. "Just low blood sugar, I guess," he covers, because he doesn't want to explain pathetically how he's thought the worst of James.

"You didn't have your sweet monstrosity today, did you?" James jokes, but he seems a little worried.

Clint doesn't want that. "Yeah," he smiles. James' returning one is well worth it.

"I don't get how you two can drink that crap," James says, and waves between Clint and his brother. "This is Bucky, this is Clint," he adds before turning his attention to Phil. "How about you go sit down, I'm buying."

In the doorway to the back room, Pepper stands, arms crossed. Clint shakes his head at her minutely, and that seems to appease her enough, because she goes back to work. Clint makes his way to the sofa in the corner, slumps down on it.

Bucky stands there looking at him for a long moment, and Clint waves at one of the surrounding chairs.

"I hate you," Bucky grits, low enough for only Clint to hear, before he turns a smile toward James.

It's the same beautiful smile that gives Clint butterflies. From this guy, however, it only causes anger. Well, fuck him, Clint can hate right back.

Bucky is surprisingly polite through the conversation, giving advice on TA matters, but he still glares at Clint when James is not looking. Clint can't figure him out. James, however, seems content that his boyfriend and his brother are getting along, so Clint leaves it be, tries to ignore the way his stomach knots unpleasantly when Bucky looks at him.

Later that evening, Natasha commiserates with him over pie, while Pepper stares at him with worry.

Between all of this and the start of the school year, it slips Clint's mind completely to have that overdue talk with James.

~

They're almost a month into the semester when Banner shoves a trajectory planning problem at him. Apparently he's doing a side project with prof. Stark, a colleague over in robotics, and there's one variable that they can't figure out how to compute. Expected results should turn a stable solution, but real time data just causes the calculations to, and he quotes Stark, "crap out." He tells Clint that fresh eyes wouldn't hurt. And especially since Clint is not familiar with the problem, he might be able to see something they're missing. Naturally, Clint's excited about it, and keeps mulling at the equations in his head for days.

An early November Saturday evening finds them watching a movie at Clint's place. Natasha's out somewhere, and this is the third time James has been over. They've graduated to a sort of half snuggle on the sofa, and Clint's happy. It occurs to him, right then, that he's forgotten to talk to James, and apprehension fills him. He's been climbing this gentle slope all this time, and telling James feels like a sudden steep incline.

"The derivative," Clint whispers, hit with realization. Because _of course_ , if the signal's too steep, it's gonna cause that fucker to shoot into infinity.

He launches off the sofa, stumps his toe against the coffee table, and almost makes it to the armchair that holds his bag before he stumbles. But it's not important, he needs to jot this down and check it before he forgets. He pulls at the bag, spreads out his papers on the floor around him. He does a fast check of the last data coming from the robotics lab, and yes! He's right!

"I found it," he cackles at James. "The derivative is asymptotically--" Clint stops abruptly at the look of mild horror on James' face. _Shit._

But James moves to kneel next to Clint on the floor, gently lifts Clint's arm. "You're bleeding," he whispers.

Somehow Clint's managed to scrape his elbow on the edge of the table.

"Ugh," he slumps, "there's bandaids in the kitchen."

James hauls him up, though, takes him to the bathroom to clean his elbow, then deposits him back on the sofa. Clint follows numbly. This always happens to him, but he's never taken care of himself with this much gentleness. James returns with a bandaid, and his touch is light as he fixes it over the scrape.

"Thanks," Clint says, staring at his patched elbow, before he looks up. There's something in James' eyes that stops Clint's breath in his throat.

James lifts his hand, cups the side of Clint's face with a caress of his thumb over Clint's cheek. "Be careful, ok?"

Clint swallows. He wants a kiss. The realization is making his heart beat fast against his ribs, and he wonders how to ask for one. But James is leaning in, slowly, his gray eyes soft, and Clint closes the distance. It's surreal, how this feathery touch of lips twists his insides into goo, when all the previous ones had just made him uncomfortable, too long, too wet, too demanding. James doesn't linger, he leans back after a second, a smile on his face. But he does wrap an arm around Clint, pulling him in, and Clint buries his own smile against James' shoulder.

~

Banner deems his idea worth a try, and he's hauling Clint to Stark's lab in a flurry of motion. The room they enter is quite large, but packed with tables laden with computers, tools, and some other devices foreign to Clint. In the middle, there's a larger table, fenced in on the sides with a few inches of plywood, holding what must be the robot supposed to follow the trajectory they needed to compute. To Clint it just looks like a cake on wheels, with layers of circuitry and wires sticking out every which way.

Stark's TA is there, hunched over a computer in a corner, and he turns. Of course, it had to be Bucky, the current bane of Clint's existence. Introductions are made, Stark seems pleased with the idea, and declares they should test it out.

"I'll leave you to it," Stark waves at Clint and Bucky, "we're getting coffee," he adds, already moving away.

Banner follows, wiping at his glasses, and almost walks into the door frame. Bucky snorts at that, shaking his head. Clint scowls.

"What kind of a name is Bucky, anyway?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Short for Buchanan," Bucky answers, raises an eyebrow.

"James and Buchanan," Clint says. "I guess you got stuck with the ugly one."

But Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs a laptop to connect it to the robot on the central table.

"I'm just gonna limit the derivative for now," he says, "see if it works."

Clint hums, nodding, and moves to look over Bucky's shoulder. He's never been good with programming, and he forgets the animosity between them as he watches Bucky work, fingers moving skillfully over the keyboard.

"It shouldn't hit the target at high speed anymore," Bucky explains, pointing at a red sphere the size of a tennis ball in the corner of the table.

He then disconnects the cable and lifts the laptop before pressing a button on top of the robot.

Clint holds his breath with the low whir of motors. The thing moves steadily toward the ball, but slows down to a halt when near it, only bumping it gently.

"Ha!" Bucky shouts, startling Clint.

He's smiling so wide, showing all his teeth, with a glee that Clint's never seen on James. It suits their faces, and he wonders what would it take to make James smile like that. But he's also noticed the brothers are quite different in personality, so it might not be in James' nature anyway.

Bucky turns to Clint, eyes sparkling a light blue, and slaps Clint's upper arm with the back of his hand. "Good find," he says, as if he's forgotten he hates Clint. He catches himself, though, and schools his features into a forced frown.

Maybe his hostility had been fake? Clint doubts he's had enough interaction with Bucky to win him over.

~

After a couple of weeks of tweaking the code, the robot's behaving as desired. It's mid November when Stark and Banner decide they need to write a collaboration paper and James is psyched about Clint and Bucky working together.

That's how Clint ends up in the twins' living room, on the floor next to Bucky, bickering about definitions and equations, James asleep on the sofa behind them. Bucky is searching for a reference to end their current dispute over proper terminology and Clint takes his time to observe him.

Bucky works hard to seem brash, but behind that facade he's just as soft spoken and gentle as James is. However, Bucky is more vibrant, an air of enjoyment around him, especially for the little things and, more importantly, when he thinks no one is looking.

And he's attentive to everyone around him, a lot more than James is, really. He's brought Clint an overly sweet latte more than once, even untangled some TA woes for him. He might snort at Banner as he walks around without looking where he's going, but Bucky's saved him both from falling down the stairs and from leaning his palm on a still hot glue gun.

By now, Clint's pretty sure he isn't hated, but he can't figure out why Bucky would say such a thing.

After a yawn stifled against his fist, Bucky rubs at his eyes. They're both pretty tired at this point.

"Let's call it a night," Clint says.

Bucky nods. "Alright. Want some tea?"

Clint just throws him a look. Is he serious?

"It's supposed to aid sleep," Bucky explains and motions for Clint to follow him to the kitchen. "You're going to feel better rested tomorrow."

And that's exactly what Clint's been thinking. Bucky is way nicer than he appears. So Clint sits at the kitchen table while Bucky shuffles around, and soon there are two steaming cups between them.

"This is good," Clint says with surprise after he takes a sip.

Bucky smirks with half his mouth without looking at Clint. He's been keeping his eyes firmly planted on his tea since he'd sat down. Silence stretches and Clint refrains from squirming.

"So who's older," he asks, "you or James?"

"Me," Bucky says, frowning at his cup.

"I had an older brother," Clint returns. He rarely talks about it, but somehow Bucky's presence is comfortable enough.

That makes Bucky raise his eyebrows questioningly at him.

Clint draws air. "He and mom and dad were in a car crash when I was fourteen," he says as fast as he can. It still feels like a half open wound, even after a decade.

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, gaze heavy. "They're all gone?"

Clint nods, and closes his eyes, pushing the memory aside.

"We never knew our father, he died when we were babies," he hears Bucky say, "and ma went four years ago."

It makes Clint look at him, then, and he offers a small smile. "You still have James."

But Bucky just stares, something odd and sad darkening the blue of his eyes. "Yeah," he finally rasps, and there's something in his voice that Clint can't quite decipher.

"I should go," Clint says instead. It's too late for deep conversations.

"Let me get my coat and I'll walk you," Bucky returns and _what_.

"I can walk home on my own," he counters, incredulous.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "There's some fucks roaming the streets at night around these parts. I'll walk you."

"Really," Clint crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, "it's just a subway station away."

"Then you stay here."

Clint is about to protest, when James shuffles in, eyes half closed and hair in disarray.

"Clint's staying over," Bucky says.

It makes James' face light up. "Yeah?"

That's just playing dirty. "Yeah," Clint sighs, and squints at Bucky's smug face.

~

Bucky provides a toothbrush, and then Clint stands awkwardly in James' bedroom, waiting for sweats and a t-shirt.

"Where do you want to sleep?" James asks softly as he hands over the clothes.

"Where do you want me to sleep?" he returns, because Clint would very much like to curl up under the comforter with James, but it's not a request he can really make, especially since his willingness to do more in bed is debatable at best.

James chews at his lip before tilting his head. "Here," he says, "but just sleep."

Clint beams and it earns him a smile. Maybe James is just like him? He'll have to ask, Clint thinks as they crawl under the covers. James curls up next to Clint, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, close enough for their heads to rest on the same pillow, but not plastering their bodies together. It's perfect like this.

~

 


	3. Hot

James stretches under the comforter, enjoying the warmth of lingering sleep, as morning light falls from his window. It looks like it's going to be a sunny day, despite the impending start of winter. James smiles at the memory of waking up next to Clint a few days earlier. He turns to look at Bucky still sleeping next to him, face slack, and James takes a deep breath. Bucky hasn't been relaxed while awake since... if James could take the last five years back, he would, in a heartbeat.

In the beginning it had been to stave off James' nightmares, but for a long while now, Bucky's been sleeping here more often than in his own bed. He just lets Bucky pretend he's doing it for James, but he knows Bucky's still scared of losing James. Another deep breath, a slow count to ten, and back on the exhale.

James is lucky Bucky's never given up on him, even when James had almost given up on life. He'd give his arm to never have met Brock. He closes his eyes briefly, clutches at the comforter.

But now there's also Clint and Clint is... James doesn't have a name to describe the way Clint makes him feel. Warm. Cherished. Safe.

Yeah, Clint's safe in a way Bucky is safe. He's not even getting the same feeling from Steve, and Steve's hella protective, has been their best friend since they were little kids. Well, Steve's another that he's inadvertently hurt, but now is not the time to fall down the slippery slope of regret and guilt. From the mess of that unforgettable night they can all say at least one good thing has come out (although Bucky and Steve argue for more than one), 'cos that's when Steve's met Sam. James smiles against the pillow. Sam's perfect for Steve. Kinda like Clint feels perfect for James.

Clint's touches are light, his hands never wonder, never press. The warmth of his body as he leans close to James is there, but not suffocating. Clint's been so very patient, and James is dreading the day he'll inevitably want for more. He stifles a shudder, inhales.

Ever since spending the night, Clint's been clearly trying to have a talk with James, but he's managed to avoid it. He knows, it has to happen, he has to tell Clint about everything if he wants their connection to last, but he can't help wanting to postpone it as long as possible.

Clint's birthday is Saturday, and James is sure he can avoid it until after. Next he's meeting Clint is Friday evening at a nearby bar, because Clint has declared he wants as many presents as possible and it's time to get their friends together. James plans on making a cake on Saturday, Clint coming over to spend the evening with him and Bucky. It's good that Bucky's going to be there, otherwise the whole thing would have had James filled with trepidation already. He's not ready, not by a long shot.

Bucky shifts, blinking his eyes open to look at James. Between one flutter of his eyelids and the next, the tiny frown that's now an almost permanent fixture on his face returns. James wants to wipe it away. But then Bucky raises his arm, and James immediately scoots closer in his embrace. They've always been this synchronized, to the point where sometimes days go by without speaking a word to each other, and they never even realize it.

"I'm afraid," James confesses, words barely above a whisper.

"I know." Bucky's voice is heavy with sleep. "It's gonna be ok."

"Hope so..." he murmurs against Bucky's t-shirt.

They stay like that for a long while, James listening to Bucky's steady heartbeat, before a phone rings. Bucky groans and turns to answer. It's a short conversation primarily of incomprehensible grunts, but then Bucky slumps back on the mattress.

"Stark says to take the day off."

"Yay," James smiles.

Bucky looks at him, one eye open. "How about breakfast and then we go out? Bring your camera? Wait, do you have anything planned today?"

"Uh... what day--"

"Wednesday."

"Ah, no. Just the thing." James grimaces.

"And after we go out to take artistic photos of dumpsters in parks," Bucky grins like applying cream over half of James' body is not draining.

"I'll smell like a pharmacy."

"You know that's not true. Come on, Jay," Bucky urges.

The scars are long healed, but sometimes they still itch, when the skin is dry, and he has to keep it hydrated. There isn't even that much medicine in the lotion they're using, but getting undressed and letting Bucky touch skin is always taking a toll on James.

"How about we do it after?" Bucky adds. "Since I don't have to go in today."

That's a way better idea, and James looks up with a smile. "Yeah, after."

Bucky grins before rolling off the bed.

~

They walk through busy streets and sunlit parks until their feet ache and their stomachs rumble. It's almost as if they're freshmen again, shuffling through the novelty and chaos of excitement, world at their feet. Back then, they'd do this at least once a month, James taking pictures of everything, and Bucky posing for carefully staged "candid" shots, exchanging their jackets back and forth. They used to be indistinguishable, even tricking ma twice, and so they'd divide the pics evenly into a Bucky pile and a James pile.

Today, it doesn't feel like a distant dream of a different life.

~

By the time they get home it's already late afternoon. A meal and a couple of showers later, James sits on his bed, breathing deeply. Like always, Bucky turns away, gives him privacy.

This is always the hardest part, rubbing the medicine into the scars on his thigh and hip. They're the ugliest. But he hurries, unwilling to allow memories to taint the day, pulls up his sweat pants. Yet his hands are shaking anyway by the time he sits back down on the bed.

"Ready," he rasps, and Bucky turns.

If it were just his arm, James would probably manage this himself, but he can't reach his back, and all around his shoulder. Bucky's been incredibly accommodating with finding a routine that works.

They sit facing each other, t-shirts coming off first, and Bucky hands over the black ink pen that's almost a lifeline on the bad days. The remnants of the last drawing are gone from Bucky's skin, and James uncaps it, traces the first line with the first touch of fingertips. He's replicating the tattoo overlaid on his own scars in tandem with the movement of Bucky's fingers, concentrating on the shape of the cherry blossoms that adorn his own arm, chest, and shoulder. By the time Bucky's done with his front, they're reflected images.

Next part is harder still. Bucky scoots closer and James matches the motion, until they're almost chest to chest. He leans his forehead on Bucky's shoulder, waits for the fingers to touch his back.

"One," Bucky whispers and James inhales. "Two," and an exhale.

That's all it takes for the rise and fall of their chests to match, and James watches Bucky's ribcage expanding and contracting rhythmically.

When the cap of the lotion bottle finally clicks closed, James breathes in relief. Bucky's arms circle around, holding him safe for long silent moments.

"I've been thinking," Bucky says quietly. "I want a matching tattoo."

"Yeah?" his voice cracks.

"Yeah. I'll get it on the right so you can still draw on the left," comes next, muffled against his hair.

James swallows. "You're too good to me, Buck."

"Of course not," Bucky breathes. "You hold half of my soul. Remember what we used to say? We share everything..."

"Because we share a soul," James smiles with the childhood memory. "I want you to do it," he adds, even though it's selfish to want Bucky's pristine skin marred with James' suffering.

But it's not suffering, no. It's survival. An homage to living. He's been waiting to feel ready for the next session for months, there's still a lot of scars to cover. He lifts his head to look at Bucky.

"Can Clint come next time?" he asks, because this would be an intrusion, but he wants to share this with Clint.

Bucky smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's fine if you want him to go with you."

"No, no," he hurries to correct, "come _with us_. I can't do it without you."

"Sure." Bucky's smile turns soft, genuine.

James breathes. Even with Clint around, he wouldn't be able to live without Bucky close. "I'm so happy you two are getting along."

Bucky ruffles his hair before getting up. "Yeah," he throws, and it feels a little like an evasion.

~

Friday evening finds James safely tucked between Clint and Bucky on one side of a booth in a nearby bar, across from Steve and Sam.

"James says you're childhood friends," Clint looks at Steve.

"Yup," Steve raises his beer bottle before taking a sip.

"Oh, tell him the thing," Sam slaps at Steve's arm, pulling a groan out of him.

"What thing?"

James leans back and grabs Clint's hand on the bench between them. This is a funny one.

"Come on," Bucky adds from the side, smirking at Steve.

"Ok, ok," Steve raises both palms. "Our mothers were friends, and we first officially met while we were in diapers. However," Steve raises a finger, "we moved next door to them when I was about four. So every day I kept coming home telling ma how I have a best friend, Bucky," he waves at Bucky. "She'd always ask, but what about James?"

James bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

"I'd tell her," Steve continues, "it's Bucky. That's his name." He stops to take another sip.

Next to him, Sam's covering his mouth, and Clint looks around expectingly.

"One day, I ask Bucky about this James ma keeps talking about. And Bucky just turns, all too serious, and tells me James is a ghost that eats little kids and takes their faces."

"He didn't," Clint returns.

"Totally did," Steve nods, "but that's not the best part. Best part is that the next day, as we were playing at Bucky's, this _creature_ ," Steve holds his hands in front of him, "comes in, eyes drawn black all around like ghosts in cartoons, with Bucky's exact face and clothes."

Bucky cackles with laughter, and James leans into Clint, unable to stop the chuckles.

"Fucking assholes," Steve returns, but he's smiling, "I cried for a week, thinking I'd get eaten!"

Clint buries his face in his hands, laughing so hard that his shoulders are shaking. "No way," he wheezes, and James rubs his back.

"Beware of the double menace," Steve continues, "if it weren't for the hair, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart."

Clint straightens at that. "No, their eyes are different colors."

Sam and Steve both raise their eyebrows at Clint. Well, their eyes _are_ slightly different, but only their ma's ever noticed.

"What," Clint adds, hunching back at little.

"If you say so, man," Sam shakes his head.

"Another round?" Bucky asks, raising to his feet, and everyone agrees.

"What do you two do for a living?" Clint addresses Sam and Steve.

"I'm a comic book artist," Steve says, "and Sam's a paramedic."

"Steve and I got the same degree," James chimes in, "but he's way more talented," and it makes Steve shake his head.

"How does a comic book artist meet a paramedic?" Clint asks just as Bucky returns with fresh drinks. But his phone chirps and he checks it. "Tasha's running late," he says after he pockets the device. He looks back up at Steve. "You were telling me how you two met?" Clint asks.

Steve catches James' eye for a second and James refrains from squirming. This has always been an awkward question.

"We got a call," Sam jumps in, "and found this one bloody and bruised after a fight."

"I wasn't bruised," Steve interrupts, "the other guy was."

Bucky tenses next to James, like he always does at the mention.

"Keep telling yourself that, your highness," comes back from Sam with a chuckle, and Steve elbows him gently.

Natasha arrives an hour later with some cheesy pastries. James has met her before, but he still feels like she's weighing him, each and every time they interact.

They re-tell the story of ghost James, and she laughs until there are tears in her eyes.

"How about an embarrassing Clint story now?" she smirks.

"Tasha no," Clint groans.

"Tasha yes," she grins. "It was a couple of years ago, we were playing pool over at that student pub near State U campus," she starts, and Clint covers his face next to James. "And this little clumsy hurricane is actually terribly good at pool, all that physics," she waves with her bottle. "We made a bet, that he couldn't propel the eight ball into the antlers of a moose head hanging on the wall."

"I know that place," Sam adds, "that thing is still there?"

"It was then, we never returned," Natasha shrugs.

"Ok, interesting," Steve leans forward to look at her from Sam's other side, "go on."

"He shot the ball all right, exactly into the ample cleavage of a waitress."

There's even more laughter, but before it dies down, Natasha's already speaking. "Ok, I got another one."

"Aw come on, it's my birthday!"

"Yeah, and we're celebrating the human disaster that is you."

~

The beep of the smoke alarm startles James and he drops the book he'd been reading while waiting for the cake.

The cake!

He runs into the kitchen and turns off the oven before opening the window. He waves off the smoke until the beeping stops. It's not that much of it, the air barely smells, so the cake might be salvageable he reckons, before pulling at the oven door hopefully. He carefully eases the tray out, places it on the table, removes the gloves.

Dammit. It's too burnt. He peeks at the clock, Clint's going to be here any minute now.

James rubs at his forehead. He shouldn't have taken that nap, or started that book, or even left the kitchen.

Because he's a bad boyfriend and he can't even fucking cook a simple thing!

No, no, no, wait. He's not. He is not.

He moves to grab the cake so he can throw it away, heart rabbiting in his chest. Except his bare fingers brush near the hot tray and he snatches his hand fast.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He has to hide it, start again. Air's suddenly not enough, and he pulls and pulls but it's never enough.

And it's _so hot_ , stifling, _burning_.

Nonono.

Not again, please, not again.

Because hot means pain, and his skin sizzling under the vicious burns. Press, and press, the smell of cigarette smoke mixing with burning flesh.

Hot _burns_.

Hot _hurts_.

A hand grabs his shoulder to bring him down, and he pushes against it, because it can't, he can't do it again.

A soft thud comes from the side and there's Clint looking up at him from the floor. The kitchen comes suddenly into focus, and James is _safe_ , he _is_ , but it's still too hot.

Too hot to breathe, and his skin aches with old wounds.

He needs... he needs...

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry.  
> I'm a little bit sorry for not being sorry.
> 
> Let me know what you think. :3
> 
> Oh, I wonder what will happen next.


	4. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's going to be a long shitty day at work and I'll have to deal with people I don't want to deal with. So I'm posting this early.
> 
> Btw, this is not beta'd and there might be mistakes... so if you see something weird or some spelling stuffs, feel free to let me know.

Clint's in an excruciatingly chipper mood, to quote Natasha. But he has good reason for it. It's his birthday, for one, and James' friends are awesome. So he feels exalted as he makes his way to the twins' place, giddy with the prospect of cake. He still hasn't managed to have that talk with James, but today is a day of celebration.

The air smells cold, and as he walks, small snowflakes start falling down. Clint inhales deeply. His studies are going well, he likes his TA job, and he has an incredible boyfriend. Things are better than good.

He rings and Bucky opens the door.

"Hey," he says with a small wave.

"Hi," Bucky returns. "Snowing already?"

"Yeah," Clint nods as he takes off his coat and wet boots.

"James is in the kitchen," Bucky says. "I'll be there in a minute."

Clint stares at his back for a while. Lately, Bucky's not even trying to pretend he hates Clint anymore. Well, who knows what goes on through his head. Clint's stopped trying to figure it out.

He makes his way into the kitchen, and sees James standing there in front of what looks like burnt cake. Clint stifles a laugh in his palm, it's actually the perfect cake for his birthday, inedible, like all of Clint's cooking.

"Hi," he says, but James doesn't react, staring into space. "Hey, James," Clint tries again and moves closer.

He tentatively touches James' shoulder to get his attention. The next second, he's on the floor, and James is looking at him in horror, like he's just seen him there.

Clint doesn't have time to say anything before James rushes out.

"Wait!" Clint yells, over the sound of the front door banging closed.

He pulls himself up, wanting to follow, but almost runs into Bucky in the doorway.

"What happened?" Bucky asks.

"He was zoning out and..." Clint waves a hand helplessly toward the kitchen table where the cake lies.

"Shit," Bucky breathes, "wait here."

Clint is so startled he just stands there helplessly, staring at the empty space Bucky's left behind. But no, something is clearly wrong, and Clint's not going to sit on his hands while James is freaking out.

He must have delayed a lot longer than he'd initially thought, because the hallway outside the apartment is empty. He looks over the banister at the staircase. Down or up? It's unlikely that James has gone off into the street, considering how he'd reacted at Clint's presence, so he runs up the stairs.

The door to the roof hangs open when Clint reaches it, and the image on the other side stops him in his tracks. James is sitting down in the thin layer of snow, back to the door. He's hugging his legs to his chest, forehead pushed against his knees. Next to him, Bucky stands, a hand extended.

"Can I touch you?" Bucky asks and James nods.

Bucky rests his hand on top of James' head, brushing off some of the snowflakes. James leans into it, and Bucky kneels close, wraps himself around James' shivering form. From where he's standing Clint can see his profile, but Bucky hasn't noticed him there.

James leans further into the embrace, pushes his face into Bucky's shoulder, grabs at Bucky's t-shirt. Snow is still falling slowly around them, and Clint's breath feels heavy in his chest.

"Do we need to call dr. Garner?" Bucky asks.

"No, just... I burned the cake." James' voice is frail and shaky, but Clint can still hear him.

"I saw," Bucky returns and squeezes him closer.

"Eight months without an episode," comes next and Clint's heart clenches.

"Gonna be longer next time," Bucky assures. Clint wonders how long this has been happening. _Why_ this has been happening.

James falls silent then, and they're both shivering. James is wearing one of his long sleeved overshirts, but Bucky's in just a t-shirt. Clint can see his breath in the cold air.

"I'm gonna lose him, Buck," James whispers, so low Clint almost misses it.

"You're not."

"Yeah, yeah I am," James shakes his head against Bucky's shoulder.

"Jay..." Bucky's voice breaks and Clint stops breathing.

"How can I not," comes back wetly. "How can I..." a gasp, "how can I have sex with him if I can't even take my clothes off in front of you."

It's not a shout, but it resounds loudly in the silence.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his arms even tighter around James.

"I'm so scared Buck," James sobs, shoulders shaking, "I love him."

Air rushes fast into Clint's lungs, swirling into an impossible tightness in his chest. Bucky looks up then, sees him there, but turns back to rest his forehead on the top of James' head.

"You're not losing him," Bucky rasps.

James says something too muffled for Clint to hear.

"I promise you won't lose him," Bucky returns. "I'll make sure of it. I promise, Jay, I promise," he speaks into James' hair, rocking them both under the falling snowflakes.

Clint remains still. This was not his to hear, and no matter how much he wants to go there and reassure that sex is not an issue, he can't.

It's long minutes before, with a heavy shudder, Bucky shifts. "Let's go inside." James nods.

Bucky looks back at Clint then, pleading, and tilts his chin toward the staircase behind Clint. Right, this was never meant for him to witness, and there's no point in aggravating a clearly shaken James. So Clint hurries back down to the apartment, curls up on the sofa to wait, making sure he's out of the way.

He tries to wrap his head around what's happened, over the sounds of Bucky bringing James into his bedroom, but he's drawing a blank.

It's maybe an hour before Bucky comes out, wrecked. He sits on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, not looking at Clint.

"How much did you hear?" he asks, voice scratchy.

"Enough," Clint says, and uncurls his legs, leans sideways into the backrest to see Bucky better.

Bucky nods tensely, but then he's walking to one of the cabinets next to the bookshelf. He returns with a half full bottle of Jack, sits back down, fiddles with the cap for a moment.

"When we--" he starts, but stops to clear his voice. "When we finished college, Jay met Brock. He was so in love, I've never seen him like that." He shakes his head. "They moved in together, Jay was happy. It," he draws breath, "it started off with missed appointments, and I never saw it. Should've, but I was busy with my masters, busy chasing flings, _living_."

He swallows, rolls the bottle between his palms, and Clint waits patiently.

"I thought the increasing anguish I was trying to ignore was because we've never been apart like that, ever. But then he missed our birthday and I was so angry."

Bucky draws a deep breath, closes his eyes.

"He kept blowing me off and all my anger is no excuse that I never checked up on him. I just clenched my teeth and went on with my life."

He looks back up, chews at his lip for a bit.

"Then ma died," Bucky whispers. "And he missed her funeral."

Clint inhales deeply, but keeps still, tries not to think about where this is going.

"I got Steve and we went there, kicked the door down. You can't imagine," Bucky draws in a shaky breath, eyes glistening, "what it was like to see him curled up on the floor, that... that _thing_ striking him with his belt because he tried to sneak out for the funeral."

Clint feels his throat closing.

"There was so much blood. All I could do was wail in agony, while Steve beat the shit out of Brock and called an ambulance. I could feel him dieing in my arms, Clint."

Bucky blinks, fat tears rolling down on his cheeks.

Something hurts, inside of Clint, so badly it feels like it's spreading through his limbs. Just then, Bucky unscrews the cap of the bottle, extends it toward Clint before slumping back on the sofa.

Clint takes a mouthful, and the burn against his throat layers over the hurt. There's not one word that he can say now, and he watches Bucky staring unseeing at the ceiling.

"He made him shave his head," Bucky croaks, "burned him with cigarettes when he messed up food, beat him when he asked to see me, _tortured_ him. In one year he _destroyed_ my brother."

Clint takes another drink, trying to stave off the pain in his chest, but it's useless.

"So you see," Bucky says, "I'm terrified of you."

It makes Clint look up in alarm. He would never...

"That day he met you," Bucky continues before Clint can reply, "he came home laughing. Like he did _before_ , easy and light and _so him_. In four years since that shit, he's never sounded quite like that, even after all the therapy and the treatments. He's been good, but not like his old self."

Would that be such a bad thing?

Bucky runs a hand over his face, sniffs.

"I think he was in love with you from the moment he saw you." And Clint's heart skips a beat. "You hold _so much_ power over him, and you don't even know it."

Bucky rolls his head on the backrest toward Clint, his eyes swimming in unshed tears.

"I wouldn't hurt him," Clint breathes.

But Bucky looks away again, shakes his head slowly, as if pain is inevitable. Clint would like to prove him wrong.

"When we were little," Bucky says, "we had this toothbrush that we demanded we share. We kept telling ma we were one person, until one day she sat us down and told us we were separate, and we should make our own way in life." He huffs. "She was wrong. He's half of me, half of my soul," he says, voice shaky, "when he hurts, I hurt."

Clint extends the bottle and Bucky grabs it, takes a sip, then rests it on his leg. He stares ahead lost in thought for a long moment, a frown forming on his forehead.

"About six months in," he whispers, and it feels like a confession, "I brought someone home to fuck the stress away. He heard us and panicked so badly, he was scratching the skin off his chest."

A hurt sound comes out of Clint's throat before he can stop it, and Bucky looks at him.

"I didn't do it again," he hurries to say, "never. Not here, anywhere. Didn't let _anyone_ come close again."

Fuck. This is... Clint has no words. He understands, though, and he hurts for both of them. How painful was it to isolate himself like that? How lonely must it have been for Bucky, he wonders. Perhaps even worse than for Clint after his family was gone.

Bucky's still looking at him, but his eyes are widening gradually, and he twists, faces Clint fully.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," he breathes, "fuck. The way I treated you, it's all my fault," he waves his hands.

Clint takes the bottle from him before it spills, places it on the floor next to the sofa.

"Look," Bucky says when he leans back up, palms raised in front of him as if he's placating Clint, "don't leave him because of me, ok?"

"It's fine," Clint frowns.

"No, it's not," Bucky licks his lips, "I was an ass."

"Really. We're friends now, we're good," he offers a small smile, but it's not returned.

"What will it be, then? The sex? I won't let him--"

Clint snorts, because that's the easiest thing to do, not have sex and still love James. It seems to be the wrong reaction, because Bucky now looks at him with horror, his hands shaking in the air between then.

"Shit," Bucky breathes. "I, I, I..."

Aw, _crap_.

Bucky lounges at him, grabbing at the lapels of Clint's shirt.

"I'll do anything," Bucky gasps, " _anything_. I can, I can pretend I'm him, we have the same face. I'll have sex with you for him."

Whoa. That's so unnecessary. Clint grips Bucky's wrists, opens his mouth to protest, but Bucky talks over him.

"I swear, I'll make it good, you won't even know. I'll grow my hair, I'll, I'll--"

"Hey, stop," Clint manages, but Bucky shakes his head, tears spilling over his cheeks again.

"Please, please Clint, you just have to love _him_. Do everything else to me."

"No, that's--"

"I beg you, please," he chokes. "Please don't leave him."

There's so much desperation in his eyes, his face anguished and blotchy under the tears, that Clint doesn't think any protest or assurance is going to work right now. They're past clear headed reasoning.

"Ok, ok," he says, "it's ok, I won't leave him."

"Promise," Bucky croaks.

"I promise."

The tension drains out of Bucky, and he slumps into himself, sobs shaking his frame. Clint lets go of his wrists, but wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders instead, pulls him against his chest.

What must it have been for Bucky, Clint keeps returning to the same thought. It seems like this breakdown came out of nowhere, but if he's carried this burden alone, all this time, it's not a stretch to consider he's never really let go. Never had the comfort. Clint moves his hand to pet through Bucky's hair, shushes him softly, and his heart twists for him.

Eventually, Bucky quiets.

The clock on the wall shows past midnight when Bucky stirs again. His eyes are red when he looks at Clint, tears dried on his cheeks.

"Go wash your face," Clint nudges gently, and Bucky nods before raising from the sofa.

He busies himself with putting away the bottle before Bucky returns. He doesn't look much better, standing there, hugging one arm.

"We ruined your birthday," Bucky rasps.

"Nah, had worse," Clint returns with a reassuring smile.

The corners of Bucky's lips raise wobbly. "Could you stay?" he asks. "Talk to him in the morning?"

"I wasn't leaving," Clint says. "Just give me a blanket."

Bucky nods, turning toward his bedroom, and Clint makes his way into the bathroom. The toothbrush he's used last time is still there.

He takes a moment to breathe. He understands how one would shy away from this. James has a heavy past, and it's going to be a lot more work than Clint's expected, but he doesn't hesitate for even the smallest moment. He loves James, too.

When Clint makes his way out, he's met with Bucky standing in the doorway of his bedroom, clutching at a blanket. He's crying again, silent tears slowly flowing down the sides of his cheeks.

"Hey," Clint whispers and Bucky looks at him, startled. Clint sighs. "Go change for sleep."

Bucky turns mechanically, and Clint watches his back for a moment, making sure he follows the request, before walking away. He locks the front door, closes the kitchen window, turns off all the lights. On the sofa, a pair of sweats and a t-shirt are already waiting for him next to a pillow. Bucky must have left them there. He changes, grabs the pillow and the packet of tissues from his coat's pocket before he returns to the bedroom.

Bucky's standing there, trying to wipe the wetness with his sleeve, and Clint throws the tissues his way. It's weird to see him fumble.

"Come on," he says, crawling under the comforter.

Shoulders slumping in relief, Bucky joins him, curls up on the other side of the bed. Clint's been right, he really needs every bit of comfort right now.

"I can't stop," Bucky wheezes with another wave of tears.

Clint wipes at his cheek. "It's ok, let it out."

~


	5. Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is round two of inner departmental politics yearly war. *heavy sigh* I hate this very much, I don't like dealing with people and "making nice" and asking for things *is bad at adulting*. It's reaching a considerable level of ludicrous. I bet we could make an entire drama series from this.
> 
> So here is the next chapter real quick. :3 Enjoy and let me know what you think. For sure I need the stress relief right now.

The ceiling comes slowly into focus when Clint opens his eyes. There are constellations drawn in blue over its expanse, darker for the stars, a lot softer for the imaginary lines connecting them. He shifts his gaze to the window, snow now falling heavily outside, filtering the light in gray. There's warmth against his side, and he looks down to see Bucky curled up with his face pushed into the side of Clint's torso, one arm slung over Clint's middle.

The events of the previous evening rush in, with all the suffering the twins must have endured through these past years. He doesn't think he could have been as strong as them. Hurt blooms in his chest, travels to lodge stickily in his throat. Clint swallows and wraps his arm involuntarily around Bucky's shoulders.

It's their resilience that awes Clint the most, because in these months that he's known them, they haven't been burdened to the point of apathy. They've shined through Clint's days, laughed with him. Now that he thinks about it, there had been the tiniest of moments, scattered here and there, that had given Clint a sense of something running deep, beyond the surface. But what they're showing to the world isn't just a fake facade to hide behind. It's _them_ , gentle James and caring Bucky. His hand moves to caress the back of Bucky's head. Clint's not going anywhere.

With a sniff, Bucky shifts. He looks up slowly, blinks at Clint, but then buries his face between Clint's ribs and the mattress with a groan, and Clint pats his shoulder in sympathy. Bucky nods, before turning to sprawl on his back on the other half of the bed.

They lie there in silence, while Clint's trying to prioritize what he needs to explain before any unwanted misunderstandings pop up. It's been overwhelming, the previous evening, hearing about all of it, so he hasn't handled everything in the best way possible. He wants to straighten things out.

"I had my headphones on," Bucky whispers, voice gravelly, "that's why I didn't hear the smoke alarm."

Clint turns his head to look at him, and Bucky's staring at the ceiling. "It's not your fault."

"I know. But still."

"Yeah." A yawn takes over and Clint covers it with his fist. "Coffee first," he declares, and moves off the bed.

The apartment is quiet, James seems to be still asleep.

Clint's already pouring coffee in two mugs when Bucky joins him in the kitchen. He adds milk and sugar in both, and when did he learn how Bucky takes his? Huh.

They're halfway through their coffees when Bucky slumps forward to lean his forehead on his arm on the table. The motion is so full of defeat, that it twists Clint's stomach in a knot, and he places his hand on the back of Bucky's neck.

"I have two things to say," he starts. "Are you listening?"

Bucky nods and Clint gives a small squeeze before letting go.

"First, I love him, too."

Just as Bucky lets out a breath that deflates the tightness in his shoulders somewhat, a shadow catches in the corner of Clint's eye. He looks up to see James standing in the door, eyes wide and the sleeve of his hoodie caught between his lips. Clint smiles at him, nods in confirmation and James presses his hand over his mouth.

"Second," he continues, "I'm asexual."

Bucky's head snaps up with a frown.

"For me," Clint says, "it also means that I don't want sex. I might be open to discussion, should it come to that." A small sigh escapes his lips. "And I stress on the might, highly unlikely," he waves in explanation, "but sex? Never an issue with me." He looks at James then. "Wipe it out of your mind."

James' entire face is hopeful in a way that seems to say ' _really?_ ' and Clint offers him another smile and a nod.

It makes Bucky turn around, and James' gaze shifts to him. There's a silent moment between them, before James comes closer to lean with his arms around Bucky and press a kiss on top of his head. He lets go, turning to Clint, but he hesitates. With a roll of his eyes, Clint gestures him closer. James' arms wrap around him over the back of the chair, followed by a peck to his cheek before James moves to get a cup of coffee for himself.

It's feels like a perfect birthday morning. Or after, technically, but Clint's allowed one extra day.

"Ugh," James grimaces at the burnt cake in the tray still sitting on the other end of the table. "I ruined your birthday," he murmurs, throwing Clint an apologetic look.

Clint raises an eyebrow, offers a half smirk, before leaning over to drag the tray closer. He manages to break a bit of the darkest portion off the edge, pops it into his mouth. It's not that bad, a little chewy, caramel-y.

"What are you doing?" James breathes.

Clint swallows around a grin, and breaks another piece off. "I toast everything I cook," he waves with the piece, "literally. I even burned salad once."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Bucky asks.

"I might have accidentally put it in the microwave?"

"No more cooking," the twins both say in unison.

Clint shrugs, continues to dig into the cake. It's actually growing on him. He also might be very hungry.

"What's it taste like?" James waves toward to the tray, while Bucky reaches for a piece himself, takes a tentative bite.

"Whoa, this is awful," Bucky says with a grimace, but shoves the rest in his mouth anyway.

"Don't eat it," James tells him, and turns to Clint, "stop eating that."

"I'm hungry," Clint mumbles.

Before he can grab for more, Bucky snatches the tray, raises from his chair.

"I'll make eggs," he says.

The sounds of Bucky preparing breakfast fill the kitchen. Across from Clint, James twists his coffee mug between his palms pensively.

"What did you--" James starts, but reconsider, "I mean, last night--" he waves a hand helplessly.

"I told him," Bucky says from somewhere behind Clint.

James slumps in relief. "If you have questions, I can try answering," he offers with a small shrug.

But he doesn't look like he wants to broach this particular topic at this very moment, so Clint just nods. "Same goes for you," he returns, "ask me anything."

"You have boundaries," Bucky says, bringing a plate to place in front of Clint, and it's not a question.

"Quite a few." Clint's stomach gives a loud rumble. "Look, neither of you ever did anything to make me uncomfortable. So keep that up, and let's eat 'cos you know," he throws his best puppy eyes at Bucky, "it's still not-technically, but technically my birthday and food."

"Very coherent of you," Bucky says and gives Clint a fork.

"Thank you."

James smiles at him, and Clint returns it around his mouthful, while Bucky brings two more plates. It's serene, this moment, infused with soft conversation against the snow falling outside.

~

When breakfast is over, Clint follows James to his room. He closes the door behind him, watches James pace the length of the space a couple of times before he turns to Clint.

"What you said," he starts, waving his hands in front of him, "it's true, right?"

"Of course," Clint confirms immediately, offering a small smile.

James returns it and he looks so relieved, it's making Clint's heart clench. He should have said something sooner.

"Is this what you were trying to tell me?" James asks.

Clint's eyebrows raise with surprise and he nods.

It makes James huff a short laugh. "I kinda avoided..." he wiggles his fingers with an awkward shrug.

So they were both worried and acted like idiots. Clint moves closer, catches James' hands. "It's true," he repeats, and James' shoulders slump. "Last night I saw you on the roof," he continues, drawing a grimace out of James, "and it wasn't my place, sorry about that. But it's true. You don't have to worry about sex," he presses.

James chews on his lip for long seconds, watching Clint. "How-- I mean what--" he fumbles for words and Clint figures James must be just as overwhelmed by this.

"Hey," Clint interrupts. "We both have questions, right?" A nod. "And we'll ask and answer, but it's been a long night, and it's still my birthday," he grins and James smiles at him warmly. Clint inhales with the tightness in his chest. "So how about we settle the most important thing right now and leave the rest for later. We have time, I'm not going anywhere."

"Not going anywhere either," James returns.

"Good," Clint breathes. "How we've been with each other, was it ok? The way we touched so far?"

"Yeah, yeah," comes back with an enthusiastic nod.

"Then how about we keep doing that and figure the rest step by step?"

James considers this with a swallow. "Actually, that would be great," he says. "I'm not really up to..." he shakes his head, looks away.

"I know," Clint says. "How about a hug?" he offers. Now that he's absolutely certain James' touches won't turn sexual, Clint finds himself considerably more open to the contact. He has a niggling feeling James would like it as well, and he's willing to give it, if it's going to make James smile.

"Yes, please," James whispers, eyes back on Clint, open and bright.

He was right, then. James lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Clint and Clint snakes his around the other's torso. They stay like that for long seconds, James tightening his grip in increments.

"I love you," James breathes shakily, and he's squeezing so hard, it's almost painful.

But Clint will give him this, _understands_ what James feels right now. He's feeling it, too, the relief of being accepted, the euphoria of being loved. He blinks back the sudden wetness in his eyes, buries his face in James' shoulder.

"I know. I love you, too."

"Good," James rasps, "good."

~

Their quiet moment together turns into a nap for James. He must have been still incredibly tired, Clint muses as he leans against the headboard, fingers treading through James' hair while he sleeps curled up next to Clint.

But eventually Clint's stomach grumbles again, and a peek at the clock on the nightstand tells him it's already early afternoon. So he makes his way out quietly. He finds Bucky in the kitchen, puttering around the counter, the aromas of cooking wafting through the air.

"Can I help?" he asks, and Bucky waves him off, so Clint takes a seat, watches silently. He doesn't know what else to say at this point.

Bucky stirs something in a pot on the stove, shoulders tense, before turning toward Clint. He comes closer, leans with both hands on the table across from Clint.

"I know you don't want sex," he says, voice gravelly, "but I meant it. I'd do _anything_ for him."

Clint blinks, a pang of something unidentifiable running through him. He tells Bucky the same thing he's told James. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky's eyes are hard as he takes Clint in, and he seems satisfied by what he finds, because he nods. "Ok," he sniffs.

His eyes are also red rimmed, dark circles forming underneath, and Clint thinks, for a moment, that's he's about to have a repeat of last night on his hands. But a closer look at Bucky reveals a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, and Clint's hand shoots up to press his palm on Bucky's forehead. He's burning up.

"You have a fever!"

Bucky's expression turns sheepish and he moves away, goes back to the stove.

"You caught a cold," Clint states.

"I'm fine," Bucky grits, but a small cough betrays him and he swears under his breath.

"Clearly," Clint returns and stands up. "Go lie down, I'll finish here."

It earns him a glare.

"At least let me help. I can follow directions, just sit down," Clint insists, but Bucky ignores him. "Did you take something?"

"Yes," Bucky rasps, turns away.

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"I can handle it," comes back, followed by another sniff.

"I know you can, but you don't have to," Clint throws his hands up, and the gesture is lost to Bucky, still facing away. "If you don't sit down right now, I'm telling James you caught a cold because of him."

Bucky swivels around faster than Clint can blink. "Don't you _dare_."

"I will," Clint growls, "if it keeps you healthy." He even surprises himself, and why is Clint so adamant about this... But apparently he cares about Bucky and he's not going to let him wear himself out. "You said anything, right?" he counters Bucky's glare with one of his own. "Then right now I want you to sit your ass down and let me help!"

He manages to keep his voice low, as not to wake James, but it still has the intended effect, because Bucky startles. He hesitates for a moment, then moves to the chair that gives him the best view of the kitchen.

"There's a salad in the fridge," he says, and Clint fetches it, grabs a bowl as well. "Stay away from the microwave," Bucky adds, voice hoarse, as Clint washes the leaves.

He turns to Bucky with a laugh, and it earns him a small smile. Something warms inside of Clint, something he can't classify.

~

It happens one day between Christmas and New Year's, around noon. Clint is spending winter break with James and Bucky, while Natasha's away at a retreat with her company, Pepper's disappeared wherever she secretively goes every Christmas, and Sam and Steve are visiting Sam's parents. Clint's been spending every night here in a comfortable atmosphere of gifts, laziness, and laughter.

He's sitting on the sofa with James trying to decide between two movies when Bucky plops down on Clint's other side. He has a full binder with him, open at the first page.

"There are some questions," Bucky says, "about you, if you're willing?"

Clint shrugs. This has been coming for a while now. "Sure."

"Great," Bucky clicks his pen open, eyes the sheet in front of him. "You are asexual but not aromantic."

"Correct," Clint says. Next to him, James leans in, clearly interested. It occurs to him that Bucky asking all the questions might be a lot easier on James, and Clint's impressed by Bucky's thoughtfulness.

"Ok," Bucky says and marks something down. He must have a list there. "Do you experience arousal?" he continues, eyes on the page.

"Bucky!" James exclaims, appalled, and Bucky looks up wide eyed.

"What," he breathes, startled.

Clint laughs and pulls the binder out of Bucky's hands. It's filled with articles. "Actually, I did the same thing when I questioned my sexuality," he says, "but I didn't print it all out."

"It's research," Bucky defends.

"You can't ask that," comes back from James.

Clint tunes out their back and forth, leafing through the materials. What draws his attention is all the notes Bucky's scribbled in his neat handwriting along the edges of the pages. It's questions and thoughts, but more importantly there are stickers cross-referencing facts from different sources, even academic research papers painstakingly highlighted. Obviously Bucky's read though all of it.

It's even more than Clint himself has read on all ace things, and heat flows into his chest, swirls in a knot that settles heavily against his ribs. He grips the binder tighter to hide the way his hands are trembling, because he finally has a name for the feeling Bucky's been stirring in him ever since his birthday. _Love_.

He clears his throat, and he interrupts the brothers' bickering to answer all questions one by one, grateful that his voice isn't shaking. They are important and delicate questions, but nothing skirts into a territory too private, and he's even more impressed by how Bucky's managed to capture the essence of it all.

~

By New Year's, Clint knows four facts.

One, he is in love with James.

Two, he is also in love with Bucky.

Three, he loves them equally and indiscriminately.

Yes, he's accepted it, and no, he can't stifle it, no matter how hard he tries, but that's fine, because of fact four: James' returning affection for Clint is enough.

There's no lacking in Clint's life, and even though he'd be over the moon if he had Bucky's as well, he's not going to ask for it. Clint won't ruin the brothers' relationship for his own selfish benefit, can't risk losing them. So he will love James overtly and he will love Bucky without anyone knowing. It's more than anyone could want.

~


	6. Fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday went well in what concerns departmental pettiness. Hopefully next week will be the same. Thank you for the positive thoughts :)
> 
> In the meantime, I finished writing the last chapter of this fic. Oh boy, so excited about posting when its time comes. And I guess I'm preparing a short epilogue scene as well *smirk*
> 
> Today: welcome to Bucky's hell. *pokes fingertips together* *runs*

Winter break is almost over already and Bucky takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He concentrates on the way the water flows hot down his shoulders, tries to put reality out of his mind. But right at this moment, his little escape exercise doesn't work and he's left staring at the white tiles of the shower stall, trying to ignore the way his eyes fill. It's been like this ever since Clint's birthday.

For a moment, he wishes he'd be able to go back to when he's hated Clint, but he can't. Well, Bucky's never actually _hated_ him, more like has been utterly terrified of him. That day, back in September, when James had come home really late and really happy, that day had been the start of a whirlwind of fear. He could see back then a moment when James would be crushed by another failed relationship, and even if he'd known it was an over the top reaction, Bucky couldn't stop worrying.

But then... he huffs, pushing his face under the spray of water to wash off the wetness, _then..._ Clint had to go and be this amazing guy, smart, caring, really attentive to James, with a smile that lights up his entire face. Bucky couldn't have wished for anyone better matched to his brother. And the way Jay's happiness had overflowed into everything around him, diluting the lingering sadness of his past suffering, it had pushed Bucky into a constant state of imbalance.

Nevertheless, it had been hard to keep hating Clint, the animosity fading into friendliness, when he'd seen more sides of him. Bucky knows for a fact that Clint's spending almost every evening cleaning up the coffee shop of his landlord without pay. Not even James had known this before Bucky's mentioned it, but Stark is somehow acquainted with Pepper Potts, and he keeps blabbering off bits and pieces of trivia that Bucky's never paid attention to before.

It doesn't help that Bucky has so much in common with Clint. They even take their coffees the same way, for fuck's sake. Bucky swallows and rests his forehead on the wall, draws in a shaky breath. If he spends too much time in the bathroom again, James is going to notice something. Unfortunately, both his brother and Clint are in the living room right now, so Bucky cuts the wallowing in his own misery short, gets out and gets dressed, grateful that he manages to compose himself.

Clint corners him right when he's out of his bedroom. His eyes are wide with worry and Bucky's stomach drops.

"What happened?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing," Clint shakes his head, "just... We need your help."

It's little things like these that make Bucky's chest constrict, the way Clint never hesitates to put his own feelings aside and fetch Bucky for James. He knows it's not what people in relationships usually do, they don't include their siblings in their most private conversations. But Clint had been consistently asking for Bucky's assistance ever since the binder debacle. If he's really honest with himself, Bucky'd sort of hoped his list of questions would make Clint distance himself from Bucky, but it had the opposite effect. Being included is filling him with both hope and dread, contributing to his being off kilter for weeks now.

But this here, helping Jay, is what he's good at. And focusing on his brother allows him to push everything else from his mind, frees his thoughts from running around in the same vicious circles in his head.

"Sure," he says, forcing out his most encouraging smile.

Clint nods at him in thanks before leading the way to the living room. He stops in the doorway, waves at where James is lying on the sofa, curled up on his right side. Bucky already has a theory about the reason. He approaches, crouches down next to his brother.

"What were you trying to do?" he asks, voice low.

James takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to look at Bucky. "Tell him about the scars," he whispers.

"Want me to do it?" he offers.

James' face turns hopeful and pleading at the same time. Bucky sighs. This isn't at all what dr. Garner had advised, but fuck it. It's been an incredibly sore subject for both of them, their identical bodies mutilated apart, and Bucky doesn't want to think about those scars, much less talk about them. But he'd rather shoulder the painful memories than let Jay do it.

So he nods, shifts to sit in the space between James' bent knees and his torso, places his hand on James' side, right over scars. It draws a shudder out of James, and he slides his head on Bucky's knees. With a light touch, Bucky swipes down James' side from his shoulder to his middle, and James curls up further. Another run, another shiver, and again, until James has his face pushed against Bucky stomach. But he's growing gradually more relaxed, the tension dissipating from his frame with each caress.

Yeah, those scars are not disgusting, and Bucky will remind him every single day if he needs to.

He turns his head then, and Clint's still standing quietly in the doorway. It never fails to amaze Bucky how perceptive Clint is. He tilts his head to the empty sofa space next to Jay's head and Clint moves to sit down.

"When things got violent," Bucky says quietly against the heavy silence around them, "he'd curl up like this." Clint is still next to them, eyes fixed on James. "So every mark left on him is on this side," Bucky adds, moving his hand again over the flannel of James' shirt. "There are deep scars from here," he lifts his hand a bit to wave toward James' thigh and hip, he never likes being touched there, then back up over his back and shoulder, "all the way here, part of his chest, and on most of his arm."

James curls up minutely around Bucky and he moves to card his fingers through James' hair. When he looks back up, Clint's got his lower lip held tightly between his teeth, such sorrow on his face that Bucky's heart twists in sympathy. However, reality is what it is, and there's nothing much to do but accept it, work toward healing.

"He's been getting tattoos over them," Bucky continues, "it's a work in progress, and it helps."

Clint's eyebrows raise in surprise and Bucky smiles.

"They're beautiful, branches of cherry blossoms" he adds, and a thought crosses his mind. He curls the index finger of his free hand, motions for Clint closer. "He might want to show you someday," he whispers as low as he can after Clint leans in, "and I beg you not to refuse to see them," he pleads around the lump in his throat.

Clint nods, wide eyed, as if how could he do that, and Bucky huffs. Of course he would be that considerate, this is Clint, what was Bucky thinking... so he busies himself with taking stock of Jay. His brother is breathing steadily, eyes still closed, but he's calm. Good.

After a few seconds, Clint's hand joins Bucky's, adding gentle strokes through James' hair. Their fingers brush from time to time and Bucky finds this moment too close to the fictional places his mind conjures up for him. His heart pulses in his chest, heavy and slow, a beat, two, three, and Bucky slides his fingers through Clint's before they can start shaking.

He moves their hands together, then, presses Clint's palm on James' shoulder, continues in a fluid motion down his arm. The scars aren't palpable over the layers James is wearing, but the gesture stills Clint nonetheless. When Bucky dares look at him, his eyes are a little too shiny, and Clint untangles their hands. For a brief moment, Bucky thinks Clint's going to bolt, but instead he manages to wrap his arms around James' form, pressing his forehead against James' back. A soft sniffle is all it takes for Bucky to resume his caresses.

It only occurs to him minutes later that he's been carding his fingers through Clint's short hair, uninterrupted, and his traitorous heart skips a beat.

~

As the days pass, there are a lot of things Bucky finds himself doing unthinkably around Clint, like calling his brother Jay. Ever since they were little, he's been Bucky, because what kid can pronounce Buchanan, and his ma would always shrug sheepishly when he'd question her about her choice in names. But for Bucky, James had always been Jay. Not even Steve, their closest and oldest friend, had been privy to that little piece of their interaction. Now, though, he finds himself sharing that with Clint. It's surprising how it doesn't feel exposing.

It hasn't escaped James' notice, though, and Bucky dreads the day when he'll catch onto everything else as well. Because that day _will_ come, there's no doubt about it. The only reason James has not seen through Bucky's infatuation yet is because of his own feelings for Clint. It's just a matter of time, and Bucky's not welcoming it.

At first he'd thought it was his loneliness, contrasted against Jay's new rush of feelings, that has been throwing Bucky for a loop, and he'd waited for the surge of affection to pass. But then Clint had to go and _care_ for Bucky, even after how Bucky's treated him.

He regrets telling Clint he hates him, so very much.

The thing that had made Bucky face himself, though, was that morning after Clint's birthday, a single fraction of a second in which Bucky's chest filled to the brim with... with... _it_. Because Clint's used Bucky's desperate offer not for his own gain, but to care for _Bucky_ instead.

And it still swirls inside of him, this feeling that has nothing to do with James, every time Clint insists on putting Bucky's well being before his brother's. He keeps doing it, coming to fetch Bucky from his lab for lunch, spending time with him instead of James, making sure to drag Bucky out to the Hourglass for hot coffee and scientific papers that hold both their interests, while James is bored next to them. Yeah, his brother doesn't mind, but Bucky also knows it's not Jay's idea to include him in everything, making sure he's not left alone. It feels like Clint is dividing his attention among them equally, and the certainty that Clint's seen through his past loneliness is making Bucky feel raw deep inside.

By all means, he should be pissed Clint's not devoting his _entire_ attention to James, but he can't find it in himself to make him stop. These past few years, even though he's had Jay's brotherly affection, Bucky had still been the one shouldering all the giving of comfort between them. Maybe he's a little bit selfish, but it's nice to be the object of someone _caring_. Clint clearly cares, only not in the way Bucky wishes.

So at night, curled up under his covers, where no one can see, he lets himself imagine what it would be like, to have _it_ back. This _love_.

~

The end of January finds Bucky on the corner sofa at the Hourglass, Clint and James engulfed in an animated conversation over a comic book. Or a series. Or some sort of art involving superheroes. They've commandeered Bucky's laptop and are hunched over it, leaving him to observe in silence.

He's been hoping his feelings for Clint would taper off, but instead they're growing more and more intense, and so does Bucky's determination to hide them.

It's amazing, how well Clint and James click, how _utterly happy_ James is. Bucky's eternally grateful to see his brother this content again. It brings a smile to his lips, when Clint and James lean in closer to the screen, foreheads bumping. He'd do anything to keep them this happy.

_Oh_.

When did doing anything for Jay come to include Clint?

Bucky inhales deeply, rubs at his chest where ache blooms. He gets up in an attempt to distract himself, makes his way to the counter to see if he can help Pepper with anything, perhaps clear a couple of tables. She's been grudgingly accepting his little attempts lately, and it's been obvious to Bucky she's known about how he'd treated Clint at first.

Today, though, she's glaring at him with renewed power. Bucky waits until she finishes serving a coffee to go before approaching.

"Are you in love with your own brother?" she grits through her teeth.

It startles Bucky enough to make him stagger back half a step.

"What," he breathes. "Of course not! Are you crazy?"

Pepper crosses her arms, huffs through her nose. "So it really is Clint you've been looking at like that."

Shit. Oh, fuck.

"Like what?" Maybe he can lie his way out of this, but given how she eyes him, it's impossible. "This doesn't concern you," he tries, and it appears to be the wrong thing to say.

"The hell it doesn't," she frowns. "If you hurt him--"

"No!" he hisses, catching himself from shouting at the last moment. "I won't."

Pepper squints her eyes with suspicion.

"I swear, he will never know," he hurries to add in a whisper, "I won't get between them, I won't do _anything_ to jeopardize their relationship. Please don't tell him," and he's not above begging.

He stands there, waiting, letting her measure him. Gradually, Pepper's frown smooths out until she's half gaping at him wide eyed.

"You poor thing," she murmurs, and Bucky's heart twists. "How about," she says louder after a beat, bends down to retrieve something from behind the counter, "you go put these up on the door?" She slides over two small colorful pieces of paper. "You know what these are, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes.

"This is more important," Pepper adds, pulling the ace pride flag on top of the universal one.

"I know," he says and she nods.

He places the flag stickers side by side below the door handle, smooths them out carefully. He leans back up when a loud screech fills the room, startling all the customers. A cup even drops on the floor, shattering and sending coffee drops everywhere.

"Clint! I will ban you again!" Pepper's voice booms in the following silence.

"Sorry everyone," Clint yells back as he bounds over toward the door, a wide grin on his face, but he changes course half way there, runs to hug Pepper over the counter. He manages to send the napkin holder to the floor, but Pepper doesn't seem to mind, even though she grumbles about it.

Later, the three of them stay behind to help clean up. Afterwards, Pepper buys them pizza, then even joins them and Natasha for a slice at Clint's. Before she leaves, though, she offers Bucky a smile so bitterly sad, it makes his breath freeze in his lungs painfully.

~

That night, after he crawls beneath the safety of his comforter, he allows himself to re-arrange the day. He imagines an afternoon where he's held onto Clint's hand on that sofa. He'd give an arm to have no more than that small touch from Clint if it meant being loved. And this knowledge fills him with an ache that he can't ignore, not when it overflows behind his eyelids, seeps wetly into his pillow. But Bucky lets his eyes cry and his mind dream, teetering precariously on a precipice between reality and fantasy.

~


	7. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under blanket*

Ever since the talk he's had with Pepper a couple of weeks earlier, things have been getting worse. The tightness in his chest has been steadily growing into a constant ache that's skirting the edges of pain at night, in the silence of his bedroom.

Today is even crappier, the campus filled with couples and red hearts. He even growls at a few students trying to get extensions on their homeworks. Fortunately, it's a half-day Friday, as Stark announces, and Bucky can't wait to get out of the lab. He's surprised when, a little after noon, Clint comes to drag him home.

They grab pizza on the way, and Bucky's dreading seeing them cuddle on the sofa today. But, since James is opposed to commercialized love and Clint's been very vocal against it, the afternoon unwinds in comfortable conversation around the superhero movies they're binge watching. It calms Bucky's swirling thoughts somewhat.

James and Clint have been discussing sexuality in comic books for a while, and Bucky tunes them out, engulfed in the action scene on screen.

"Actually," he hears James say, "I was the one bringing home the boys, and Bucky the girls, but we've never classified ourselves one way or the other."

Silence follows. Ugh. Bucky dares look up, and James is absorbed with choosing a slice from the pizza box on the coffee table, but Clint's staring at him with disbelief. Ah, there it is. He shrugs, andClint takes him in with an odd look, but eventually he turns his attention back on James and the movie. Bucky's bubble of calm is shattered, though, reminded how he's utterly in love with Clint. It occurs to him right then and there how he's never even questioned the fact that Clint's a guy. And now that he thinks about it, there hasn't been even one inclination, one tiny thought directed toward Clint that had been sexual. Huh. It really doesn't matter, though. Putting a label on his feelings is not going to change anything.

As the evening stretches into night, Bucky does wonder if his affection for Clint is more of a brotherly kind, but there's nothing in it that's even resembling his love for his brother. The one he has for Clint is definitely romantic.

Bucky snorts at himself as he slides into bed. If he'd regard Clint as a brother, everything would be so much easier. Unfortunately, that's not the case, and he pulls in a shaky breath, pushes his face against the pillow. Across the hall, he hears their muffled voices as they prepare for sleep themselves, and Bucky wishes he could go crawl into James' bed again.

When he pulls the comforter tighter around himself, it feels cold to the touch. He craves Clint's presence and he misses being close to his brother. Just like that, the hurt is back and he stifles a whine threatening to escape his throat. It's mixing with desperation tonight, a certainty that his days will be reduced to oscillating between being happy for James and miserable for himself.

He breathes in and out slowly, trying to push everything out of his mind, chasing elusive sleep. He's been exhausted lately, and it's taking a toll on him.

The silence is interrupted by the soft click of the doorknob, and James makes his way into the room. Bucky closes his eyes quickly, feigns sleep.

"I know you're awake," James sighs and he sounds sad, but Bucky's in a dangerous place right now, enveloped in hurt, so he doesn't dare move, lest he gives away something he shouldn't.

The bed dips under added weight, and James slides in, curls up facing Bucky. Just like when they were kids, he scoots closer, until their knees connect and their foreheads touch. He grabs Bucky's hands, holds them tightly between his own. Silence stretches again around their matching breaths, and finally Bucky opens his eyes. He can only see the tip of James' nose from this close.

"What's wrong, Buck?" James whispers.

"Nothing," he says, but his voice is wobbly.

James shifts back so he can look at Bucky, and Bucky closes his eyes again. He doesn't want to see what's on his brother's face.

"It's not nothing," comes back softly.

A beat later, one of James' hands lifts from where he's been holding onto Bucky's, and he presses his knuckles on Bucky's chest, rubs gently. _Right where it hurts_. He can't hold it back anymore, an ugly sound escaping his throat around a sob. He manages to hide his face, pulling his hands away from James, curls up tighter into himself.

Arms wrap around Bucky, and he shouldn't accept it, not when he's crying over James' boyfriend, for fuck's sake, but he can't find it in himself to push James away. He lets the tears flow, under James' soft crooning. His heartbeat is steady tonight, and Bucky's drawn to its rhythm, lets it lull him into calmness. He understands now, how Jay can calm down so fast when Bucky's holding onto him.

With a deep breath he unwinds, dares to look up. James is wiping at his own cheeks.

"Why are you hurting?" he asks wetly.

Bucky inhales and shakes his head, closing his eyes. He's not ready to say it.

"Please," James rasps.

"Not tonight," Bucky manages.

Silence follows for a long beat, but then James' arms return around him, and Bucky's pulled against his chest again.

"Ok," comes back in a whisper. "But tell me soon, so I can make it go away." A kiss follows, on the top of his head, and Bucky lets himself believe in the possibility of fixing this. "You're half of my soul, too."

That night, Bucky sleeps uninterrupted for the first time in weeks.

~

In the days that follow, James is still eying him with concern, but doesn't press. And whenever Clint's not spending the night, he joins Bucky, helps keep him calm.

The hurt has been dulled a little around the edges, but Bucky knows it won't last. He'll need to come clean to James soon and he's scared of what will happen when he does.

~

A Saturday evening near the end of February finds Bucky dozing on the sofa, his head in James' lap while the other reads quietly. Clint should be here soon, with dinner. They've already chosen the movies to watch tonight, and this is one of Bucky's favorite past times with them, because, if he pretends to fall asleep on the sofa, sometimes Clint's fingers find their way into his hair. James, however, sleeps for real on Clint's other side. It's the only reason Bucky's been getting away with it.

His phone rings and Bucky stretches with a groan to lift it from the coffee table.

"Hello?"

"Bucky, this is Pepper," he hears against a lot of noise in the background. "I didn't have James' number, so I got yours from Tony." She sounds rushed, and Bucky's stomach drops as he sits up. "Someone broke into the shop while Clint was cleaning up." Oh fuck. "I was upstairs calling some suppliers, don't know exactly what happened, but they took him to Mercy." Bucky can't breathe. This is not happening. "One of the nurses there is a friend, and I gave her your name, 'cos Nat's out of town and I gotta deal with the police here."

James pulls at his sleeve as Bucky tries to comprehend what she's saying.

"Bucky? Did you hear me?"

"Yes," he manages and his hand is shaking so hard, he almost drops the phone. "We'll be there."

"Great, I gotta go, call me immediately when you know something."

"Yeah," he breathes before the line disconnects. "Clint's at the hospital," he turns to James and they both rush to grab boots and coats.

It's a good thing James is so focused on getting them there as fast as possible, because Bucky can't really hold on to even the frailest whisper of a thought right now. Hospital means Jay on life support, bloody and beaten and almost gone. Hospital means pain. So he follows mindlessly, lets James steer them to a cab, through the entrance, then to the information desk there.

A nurse greets them, she seems to be already waiting for them, and she's too cheery when Clint's somewhere all alone, hurt. She takes them through hallways, and they're met by a tall doctor right outside a door. The smell of disinfectant is nauseating, and there's sound rushing into his ears, drowning out the conversation.

Why is Jay smiling?

The room is full of empty beds. Where the hell is Clint, what have they done to him?

"Buck! Hey!"

His eyes snap to James' concerned face, his hands on Bucky's shoulders gripping too tightly. No, no, please don't be dead...

"He's not dead! Look, he's right there, and awake," James shifts and Bucky can see Clint wince while trying to raise a hand in hello.

Clint's alive, and Bucky rushes over, stops with both hands hovering above him. He's bruised all over, with a swollen cheek, his right arm bandaged that he curls around his ribs, and tape is visible wrapped under the hospital gown, his other wrist in a soft cast. There's still a trace of blood under his nose, and little cuts everywhere. He looks like crap.

"Shoudda' seen the other guys..." he slurs.

Did he say that out loud? The room spins a little.

Gentle hands pull at him, and Bucky's sitting, sipping water.

Clint's knuckles are red, and he stares at them for a long while, but his palm is warm where it's resting inside Bucky's.

~

The clock on the wall displays a quarter past midnight, and Bucky slowly looks around, taking in the room. How did he get here? There are three empty beds on his left, and when he looks down, he's holding onto a hand. His eyes shift up and there's Clint, sleeping on the hospital bed.

The events of the evening rush in, and he's suddenly aware of how he must have seemed from the outside. He lets go of Clint's hand as if burned, before daring to look up to the right. On the other side of the bed, James sits in a chair, face grim. There's a small frown on his face, papers and pen in his hands, and he looks at Bucky unmoving for a long while.

He knows. Fuck, he knows.

"He fought two guys off," James says, voice gravelly. "Pepper called again," he lifts Bucky's phone from his lap, and Bucky must have been so out of it, he doesn't even remember giving it to James. "They got them."

James shifts then, leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"No concussion, but a sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and a cut on his forearm. The rest are minor scrapes," he tips his chin at Clint. "He's going to be fine."

Bucky nods. He's going to be fine.

"They want to keep him overnight, check on his ribs tomorrow. I convinced them to let us stay while we finish filling these out," he waves the papers, "but then they're kicking us out. We can come back in the morning."

Bucky swallows.

"We need to talk, Buck."

~

The apartment is silent as they make their way in, and Bucky follows James to the living room. Dread fills him with every step and he can't... He can't do this right now, so he turns and runs. There are footsteps pursuing, but he manages to close the bedroom door behind him just in time. He leans all his weight on it while James tries to push it open from the other side.

"Open the door," he hears before James makes another attempt. "Come on, Buck."

He can't, and he screws his eyes shut.

"Ok, tell you what," James' voice comes through the wood, "I'll give you five minutes and then you're going to open this door."

He sounds so fucking mad. Bucky shakes as he slides to the floor. It's over. The hurt travels up from his chest, intent on strangling his throat from within, and he swallows painfully around it.

It feels like an eternity before James returns. This time, Bucky raises to let him in, then sits on the edge of the bed, not daring to meet James' eyes.

A glass comes in his line of sight. "Drink this first," and Bucky does, numbly. The water tastes strange. But the glass is taken away, and then the bed dips before James' arms wrap around him.

"I'm so sorry," James says, and why is he sorry, Bucky should be sorry. "You're always the strong one, so I didn't realize how much you were affected. Don't worry, I'm not upset," he breathes, places a kiss on Bucky's temple.

"You're not upset," he repeats. He must be dreaming, and he lets his eyelids fall closed.

"Really not. Everything's fine."

He sounds far away, and Bucky feels heavy all over. "Wha'd'y'give me..." His words tangle.

"Just a sleeping pill. Rest now, we'll talk later."

~

James is already in the kitchen when Bucky shuffles in, squints against the brightness of the morning light. He feels weirdly rested and on edge at the same time, but he's calmer than last night. He's grateful for the sleeping pill James gave him.

"Sit down," James says softly while he fixes Bucky his coffee, and Bucky complies, but he still can't look his brother in the eye.

Instead, he wraps his fingers around the mug James places in front of him, waits. James sits down next to him, elbows bumping over the edge of the table. They sip their drinks in silence for a while.

"You love him," James whispers, "like I love him."

"Yes."

Next to him James inhales deeply, exhales. "Good."

"What?" Bucky's eyes snap up at him then, not trusting his own ears. But James is really smiling, he's not imagining this. "Why?"

"You think I don't know what you did for me?" James says and grips his hand. "Steve told me how you cut ties with everyone, how lonely you've been. You deserve to be happy," he adds, eyes soft.

"But Jay, Clint loves _you_." How can James accept this so lightly?

"And we'll make him love you, too."

He's fucking serious, judging by the determined set of his face. Bucky lets out a huff.

"You can't _make_ people fall in love."

"He already likes you," James counters, "and who'd dare not love you, hm?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Why are you doing this?"

"We share a soul," he says. It's undeniable, coming from his lips. He brings his other hand to wrap around Bucky's as well, squeezes tightly. "You shared in my pain for so long, now share in my love."

He's left gaping. James has finally lost it.

"I've been thinking about this all night, and it's the perfect solution." James continues. "There won't be any awkwardness because of sex, I can't get jealous of you even if I wanted to, and we're brothers, so Clint won't be threatened by our interactions. Unless," he chews at his lips, a small frown forming on his forehead, "you'd get jealous of me?"

"Of course not," Bucky hurries to say, he couldn't, and James' face lights with relief. He's very tempted to believe him, to accept this surreal dream. "What if he doesn't," he whispers.

James shakes his head. "Then no Clint. I can't have this _hurt_ you any longer. You're the most important to me."

Fuck. Bucky lets out a shaky breath. James is really ready to...

"You're to me," he breathes.

"And Clint can be the most important to _us_ ," comes back, before James lifts Bucky's hand to place a kiss on his knuckles. "Let me take care of this. I promise, it'll be ok, whatever happens."

Bucky might be losing it, as well, but he lets himself believe James. As absurd as it sounds, he can see himself living through this sort of fantasy, and he wants it.

"Yeah," he rasps, and pulls James in, holds him tightly, "all right."

~


	8. Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm posting this ahead of time because I lack patience and self-control, I want everyone to (hopefully) get warm fuzzies from this over the weekend. 
> 
> I love your feedback :D Gimme. *grabby hands*

James has no idea what he's doing. That night in the hospital, when Bucky had freaked out, Clint had been too gone on painkillers, and he doesn't remember the way Bucky had held onto his hand, trembling all over. He'd scared James for a moment, but his feelings had been so obvious, and that had explained a lot. If Clint would have remembered, then he'd have asked about it, and James could have talked to him. As it is, he doesn't even know where to start this particular conversation. He's been brazen in promising to handle this, but James is really not good with words, not when it comes to something so delicate.

In the meantime, Clint's been staying with them while healing, and for the past week and a half he's been the worst patient possible. But Bucky's been so careful and attentive with him, so accommodating to Clint's needs. James remembers when Bucky'd cared for him this way, painstakingly enduring. It astounds him.

What's been good, though, is that Bucky seems to have shed much of the hurt that he's been carrying. It's as if having James' approval has allowed him to enjoy the love he's feeling. If their places were reversed, James would have reacted the same, he's sure. Also, Bucky's confirmed it when James has asked. James just wishes he had a plan of action sooner rather than later, ideally before their birthday at the end of March. Loving feels good, but having it returned feels wonderful, and he wants Bucky to experience it.

Tonight, they're at Clint's place. They've all been to see Natasha's show the previous day, and it's been amazing. Now they're celebrating her success with a quiet evening at home. Clint's wrist is better, even though his ribs are still sore and the bruises aren't all gone yet. He's been playing a game with Bucky, both huddled on the floor, Clint's unhurt hand and one of Bucky's on the controller together. Meanwhile, James has been drawing quick sketches of the show and offering them to Natasha as bribe. It's working, as she seems to be slowly warming up to him, her measuring stare dialed back a tiny notch.

He's interrupted from his musings by Natasha's voice next to him.

"Those are done," she says, and James remembers what he's been doing in the kitchen corner of her and Clint's apartment.

He takes the popcorn bag out of the microwave, empties it in a bowl. Natasha offers him a beer before leaning with her elbows on the counter separating them from the living room.

"They seem to get along," she says and James joins her.

Across the space, Clint and Bucky are laughing at something on the screen, the fast frames of the video game rushing by.

"Yeah," he smiles. It's been great to see them like that. It speaks to how certain James is of Clint's affection, that he can't find a single sliver of doubt in himself. He's been looking for it, has questioned himself, but he always comes back to the same conclusion. For some reason, he's certain that if Clint were to love Bucky, too, he wouldn't fall out of love with James. Ridiculous? Yes. But it's a gut feeling James is willing to trust.

"A little too well," Natasha continues. "They look like lovebirds," she snickers.

If only. James sighs deeply.

But she turns sharply to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. Clint's really gone on you, ever since you met."

So she's been protective of Clint this whole time.

"Yeah, I know," he offers lightly and she nods at him. "But do you really think they look like..." James tilts his head, as if that would yield an answer.

Natasha snorts. "I mean, look at his stupid face, he smiles like that at you all the th--"

She stills, and James turns to her just as she turns to him.

"You don't think..." he breathes.

Natasha's frozen there, hand with beer bottle bent in the air, eyes wide. She most likely does think so. But she twists slowly, probably to get away from an awkward conversation. James catches her sleeve, makes her rotate back.

"The truth, please," he adds.

"Clint loves you," she says.

"Yeah, we've established that, not in question."

Natasha's eyebrows knit in a confused frown.

"Do you think Clint could be in love with Bucky as well?" he asks, quietly.

She taps her fingers on the bottle, chews at the inside of her cheek. "If I say he looks like it, will you be pissed?"

James rubs at his forehead with a sigh. He draws out one of the chairs, takes a seat, and waits for Natasha to follow suit.

"You're his best friend, right?" he asks, and she nods. "What if I told you that this scenario would make Clint the happiest?"

She regards him silently for a long moment until understanding dawns. Yep, there it is.

"Are you and Bucky togeth--"

"No! The hell did that come from?" James interrupts with a grimace.

Natasha's shoulders slump. "So how would this work? There's bound to be friction, also a shitload of hurt, for Clint," she adds, raising an eyebrow menacingly.

"It's simple, really," James returns. "Me and Bucky are used to sharing. If it's ours, it's ours."

But Natasha shakes her head incredulously. James and Bucky had explained this to Steve numerous times before.

"If you give me a dollar, and you give him nine, we'd still have ten dollars."

"You're serious," she frowns.

"Yeah. Ask Bucky if you don't believe me. If Clint wants us both, no matter how unequal, he'll have us both. It's as simple as that, we don't get envious when it comes to each other."

He lets her mull this over, waits patiently. After a while, she huffs. "Ok. But how can you guarantee Bucky will return Clint's feelings?"

James raises both eyebrows, shrugs his shoulder in Bucky and Clint's direction. "Look at him."

A beat, as Natasha shifts her gaze toward the living room, then "oh."

"So do you think it's possible?" he asks, hope spreading tendrils through him. "I want Clint to be happy just as much as you do."

Natasha turns to him then, lips pressed. "You know what," she says, "let me find out."

She tilts the head of her bottle, and James knocks his own against it. They drink in silence for a few minutes before Natasha speaks again.

"How the fuck can't they see what they look like?"

James bites at his lips, sheepishly, because he's missed the way Clint regards Bucky, too. Natasha laughs at him.

~

Two days later, Natasha texts with confirmation. ' _Both of you, equally_ ,' it says, and James grins with glee for an entire hour while the grandmas in his painting class eye him warily.

~

Tasha's the devil. With extreme subtlety, she's been teasing Clint, even drawing James in her comments, while James plays the innocent bystander. Then, they've started on Bucky. It's wrong, oh so wrong, but James takes _such pleasure_ in it. With every new comment, he's been expecting Bucky and Clint to realize what's going on between them. He's excited about it, and Tasha is, too, judging by the way she elbows him, smirking. It's just a matter of time now.

But the boys are stubborn. So her next challenge for James is to take a picture of Clint and Bucky sleeping together and pin it to the fridge. If that doesn't open their eyes, James is going to have to take drastic measures, and Tasha's already begged her way out of that. Well, she's helped plenty already, and James is grateful. He tells her as much, but she just rolls her eyes at him, and demands an ink portrait in costume.

~

Clint is spending the night again. They've found a balance to the times Clint stays over and the times he goes back to his place. James hasn't been there doing the same because, for one, Clint's bed is tiny and they're both uncomfortable with that tight fit, and two, Bucky'd be alone. Clint not only understands, but he's encouraging James to spend time with him. How James has not seen through that, is beyond him.

He helps Clint put his t-shirt on, and James winces in sympathy with him, before Clint leans against the pillow pile with a groan. He's been praising the softness of James' mattress for weeks now.

James pulls the covers higher for Clint, sits on the edge of the bed, pondering the best way to catch Bucky and Clint asleep together.

"You know you can go sleep over there," Clint says with a small smile, "I don't mind."

Oh, there's an idea.

"Actually, I was wondering if Bucky can come here tonight."

"Well," Clint says after a beat, carefully smoothing out the edge of the comforter, "there's plenty of room."

That fake disinterest he's displaying is adorable. But there _is_ plenty of room for the three of them, otherwise James wouldn't have suggested it.

"Great," he says and shuffles out, pretending not to see Clint's smile.

In the kitchen, Bucky's drinking his weird tea, and James sits across from him, watches and waits for long minutes.

"Ok what," he says after he takes his last mouthful.

James grins.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Bucky sighs, but he still follows James out of the kitchen. "So what are we up to?" he asks when James stops in the door of Bucky's bedroom.

" _We_ are getting ready for bed, and then _you_ are joining us."

A pause, then a small "ok," and Bucky's moving.

When James re-enters his bedroom, Clint's carefully shuffled himself in the middle of the bed, feigning sleep. Uhuh, who is he kidding, and James tries not to chuckle aloud at the way Clint's toes wiggle under the covers. He inhales around the pleasant tightness in his chest, lets a smile settle on his lips.

Bucky and James' birthday is in about a week, right during the blooming of the cherry trees, and he's given himself time until then. If subtlety continues to fail, he's just going to sit them down, and put everything on the table. Like he should have done from the start, as an adult, but eh. James can't really proud himself with being that mature.

When Bucky comes in, he frowns, looking between the bed and James warily, but James just shrugs before sliding in on Clint's left. Bucky follows on the other side without further comment, turns off the lamp on the nightstand. The room is bathed in the soft tones of the street light flowing from the window, and it doesn't take long for James' eyes to adjust.

He slides his hand in Clint's, and given the twitch of his fingers as they intertwine, he is still awake. James shifts up, places a small kiss on Clint's forehead. Across from him, Bucky's watching, and James tilts his head encouragingly. It doesn't take long for Bucky to lean up as well, and the peck he places on the same spot as James is lighter, but unmistakable.

Against his wrist, James feels Clint's pulse increase, and his heart skips a beat. He could say something right now, but this silent moment is so perfect, he doesn't dare spoil it. Baby steps.

So he curls up, nose pushed against Clint's shoulder, lets sleep envelop him.

~

James is not a heavy sleeper, and morning light in particular wakes him up. The other two, however, are still deep in slumber and James grins at the sight.

During the night, Bucky's managed to shuffle closer in such a way that his chin is hooked over Clint's shoulder, while Clint rests his cheek against Bucky's forehead, mouth slightly open. James carefully grabs his phone from the nightstand, takes a few shots until he gets a good angle without waking them.

It already fills him with delight, and he manages to slip out of bed and the room unnoticed. The first thing he does is send the best shot to Tasha, then he prints out a copy for the fridge. He takes another shot of that, as it hangs under a magnet, and sends it as well, for proof. Now she owes him a beer. James has found that Tasha's pretty chill under that menacing exterior. She answers with ' _good job_ ' and ' _good luck_ ' while he's making coffee and James chuckles to himself.

During breakfast, both Clint and Bucky take it in stride. They discuss the pic in terms of composition and colors, using phrases in nonsensical ways and even inventing words for their critique. James is stuck between laughing and rolling his eyes in frustration.

~

It's Saturday, and their birthday's tomorrow. Clint's at their place, sitting cross legged in the middle of the sofa next to James while scribbling some calculations on a piece of paper. In the armchair to the side, Bucky's reading something with way too much math in it. James squirms, puts down his book.

"Hey," he whispers, "can I have a kiss?"

Clint looks up with a smile so amazed, that it never fails to stop James' breath in his chest for a fraction of a second. Clint's not all that into kissing, they've talked about it, and James knows exactly what Clint doesn't like. But since then, he's worked hard to find that perfectly balanced kiss that makes Clint's face light up the most. It's absolutely worth it, making him look like that.

A nod, and Clint meets James half way. He leans back with a small sigh, smiles at James, a little dazed like always.

"Can Bucky have a kiss?" he adds just as quietly.

"Yeah," Clint breathes.

The next moment, he realizes what he's said, and he stills, face falling. But James keeps his own smile firmly in place, lifts his hand to caress the side of Clint's face. He leans in then, whispers in Clint's ear.

"We both love you, very very much."

James straightens back, watches Clint as his eyes fill gradually with understanding and then so much hope, that James' heart clenches in his chest. He shifts so they can both look at Bucky, but he's still absorbed in whatever he's reading.

Clint's hand comes up to clutch at James' shoulder, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, wordless.

"It's true," James continues, voice still soft, "and nothing would make me happier than him having what I have."

"This is..." Clint inhales the sound shakily.

"What you want, right? Both of us."

It earns him a wide eyed nod, and James answers with a smile. Clint shifts then, wraps himself around James, squeezes tightly. It's long moments before he leans back, but doesn't let go of James completely. He cards his fingers through James' hair pushing it out of his face, and James closes his eyes against the caress.

Clint's lips are warm when they press against James' in a fluttery touch. "Yes, yes," and he places another kiss to James' cheek.

He can't dim down his smile, but Clint matches it.

"You wanna tell him, or should I?" James asks.

"Hm," Clint leans back, glances at Bucky. "Let me," he says, and resumes his earlier position, straightens out his papers.

James takes his cue, picks up his discarded book, and his heart rabbits in his chest with anticipation.

"Um, Bucky?" Clint calls, and Bucky looks up, a little disoriented. "Can you help me with something here?" he points at the papers in his hand with his pen.

"Yeah, sure," comes back and Bucky moves to sit on Clint's other side. "What is it?"

"Can you solve this for me?" Clint asks and scribbles something.

Silence follows and, from the corner of his eye, James watches Bucky staring frozen at the paper.

"Is this a joke?" he finally asks, voice breaking.

"Of course not," Clint replies without pause.

Bucky looks up, gaze skittering between them, and James puts down his book, nods at him. The grin that splits Bucky's face matches the shine of his eyes, and he raises both hands toward Clint, but snatches them back, unsure.

"Can I..."

But Clint pulls him closer with a huff, and it's Bucky's turn to hold on to Clint. James takes the papers away before they can squish them, and doesn't stop the chuckle when he sees the ' _I love you, too_ ' written on the page.

"So cheesy," he says.

"Shut up," comes back from Clint without heat.

James just pets the top of Clint's head before sliding away. They deserve to have their moment.

He busies himself with washing a bunch of grapes in the kitchen, pops one in his mouth while texting Tasha. He gets back an enthusiastic approval, followed by ' _Pepper's gonna kill you both_.'

He's still laughing lightly when Bucky comes in. Before he can say anything, he finds himself in a tight hug, and James squeezes back. Bucky's cheek is wet against his.

"Did you make him cry?" he asks, and it earns him a huff of laughter.

"Only a little," Bucky chokes.

James sneaks a hand between them, presses his palm against Bucky's chest. "How's it feel?"

"Incredible," comes back on a long exhale. "I've never felt anything like this."

It rekindles James' smile. He leans back after a while, wipes at Bucky's face with his sleeve. "It's only going to get better."

Bucky nods, believing. "I have to keep telling myself it's real."

"It really is."

And Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, breathes slowly. "I know he's not much into it, but you think he'd be willing to kiss me?"

"Yeah," James says, "he is."

Next to him Bucky chews at his lip, a small frown forming on his forehead. "Any pointers?"

"Keep your mouth closed," James returns. "He likes it best if you ask for it," he smiles. It's taken him a while to discover this little quirk, and he doesn't think Clint realizes how he brightens whenever James requests out loud. "Actually, this is the best one I've found," he says, and presses his lips to Bucky's in demonstration.

After James lets go, Bucky raises both eyebrows. "That _is_ a good kiss."

"Right?" James grins.

Bucky beams at him, squirms on the spot, and it makes James laugh.

"Go on," James waves him off.

He stops in the doorway, though, turns back. "You'll be ok here?"

"Yeah. Take your time with him," he smiles again and Bucky matches it, warmly.

"Thanks, Jay," he breathes before slipping out.

James scrunches his shoulders in joy, before returning to his phone. He spends the better part of the hour in a back and forth with Tasha grading Steve's versus Sam's asses based on shape, perkiness, and pant tightness. He almost chokes on grapes twice at her hilarious comments.

Afterwards, he plans to start on food, but finds himself making cookies instead. Well, who said they couldn't eat chocolate chip sugary treats for dinner? Ugh... Bucky's gonna lecture him on the merits of vegetables again. Oh, well.

It's a bit overwhelming, this elation, but he's enjoying it fully, humming under his breath. He's waiting for the first batch to finish when Clint shuffles in, comes close to where James is sitting at the kitchen table. He runs his fingertips through James' hair, and James presses against the touch.

"All good?" he asks.

Clint smiles with a nod. "He fell asleep."

James twists in his seat so he can wrap his arms around Clint's middle, looks up at him.

"It hasn't been easy on him," he offers, and Clint nods in understanding.

"I get it," he says, hands resting on James' shoulders. "And you're really ok with this."

"Yes," James smiles, but there's still a trace of worry on Clint's face. "I've known about it for quite a while. All that's changed is that now you two can stop pining like idiots."

Clint huffs and smacks at his shoulder.

They do eat cookies for dinner, and Bucky only comments once on how it's not exactly healthy.

~

"Ma said she would've named us Cherry and Blossoms if we were girls," Bucky says, leaning back on the park bench.

Around them, the path winds under the blooming branches of old cherry trees. James inhales the mid day spring air. He's made it to twenty eight.

"I bet you'd have been Blossoms," Clint tells Bucky from where he's sitting between them, and James laughs.

"Hey, he survived highschool with a nickname like Bucky," he adds. "I think he would've been fine with Blossoms."

"I'll have you know I did more than survive," Bucky says, "I was pretty popular."

"Excuse you," James returns lightly, " _we_ were popular."

"I think the entire school had a crush on one of us at some point," Bucky smirks.

Clint smiles at that, but it falters. "You realize you'll never have sex again," he looks between them.

"Fuck sex," Bucky declares without pause, and it pulls a relieved huff out of Clint.

James' heart flutters in his chest, though, because Clint's said it with such finality... he _really_ is in it for the long run. And judging by the look on Bucky's face, he's noticed it, too.

"Is that your undying declaration to us?" James teases.

Clint's face turns from pink to a deep shade of red, as he becomes aware of his words. James mirrors Bucky's smirk before they both lean in to press matching pecks on Clint's heated cheeks, and it pulls a laugh out of Clint.

"I'm serious, though," he says.

"We know, and we're good with that," Bucky tells him.

"It's why this will work," James offers from the other side, and Clint smiles at him so brightly, it's almost dizzying.

"All right," Clint sits up, turns to them with a grin. "I'm buying you two pancakes for lunch." Bucky raises an index finger, but Clint catches it. "You can have spinach on yours."

James leads the way, and Bucky follows, still grumbling. He pulls out his phone, makes an appointment at the tattoo parlor for next week.

Today is a beautiful day.

~


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus scene cos all of you've been great. :3

Clint slides into the booth with the twins on either side of him. Since yesterday, they've kept him between them. Clint's been in this position before, but now it feels balanced, whole, with Bucky's index catching onto Clint's little finger, James' shoulder bumping into his own. James looks ecstatic, his eyes shining under his long lashes. Bucky's been taking his cues from James on how to interact with Clint, like it hasn't set in yet, that they're each other's now. That's fine, though, they'll eventually figure this new connection out.

On the other side of the table, Natasha, Steve, and Sam had already been waiting for them, meeting their arrival with boisterous birthday wishes. From where she sits between Sam and Steve, Tasha smirks at Clint, a glint in her eyes. Clint squints his with apprehension.

"What did I tell you," she says, after their beers arrive, and leans with both elbows on the table, extends her palms outwards to her sides.

Sam shakes his head and Steve sighs, but they both retrieve their wallets, then each place a bill in her waiting hands.

"You bet on us?" Bucky asks, incredulous.

"I bet on Clint," Tasha returns, and snaps her fingers at Steve. "Give."

Steve grins widely before rummaging through his backpack, while Sam chuckles quietly. Two pieces of cloth land on Bucky and James in succession, and they unravel them to reveal t-shirts, a blue one for Bucky and a red one for James. On their fronts, it says, in big letters, ' _If found, return to Clumsy_.'

Tasha grins for half a second before a piece of purple material hits Clint's face. "I'm clumsy," Clint reads on the front of the t-shirt. "Aw, come on!" he balls it up and throws it back at her.

"Hey, now!" James lifts to catch it in mid-air. "Ditching us already?" he turns mock hurt eyes at Clint.

With a huff, he takes it back, and turns to find Bucky's already pulled his over his henley. He looks at Clint expectingly and Clint leans back. James is no help, seeing how he's busy pulling his over his long sleeved shirt.

"Ngh," Clint groans.

Across from them, the other three are waiting, phones out.

"Do it already," Steve pushes.

"Come on, man," adds Sam, "take responsibility."

"Don't worry, we'll get them later," James leans in with an one arm hug around his shoulders and Clint can't stop the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips.

Tasha sends him a conspiratorial one from where she's waiting to immortalize this moment. Yeah, ok, she's forgiven. Partially.

~

"This has been fun and all," Sam says, "but I have an early day tomorrow."

Good nights are said while Steve and Sam pulls their coats on. However, instead of taking her seat back, Tasha grabs her jacket as well.

Clint raises both eyebrows at her. "Going, too?"

With a grin that's been known to make people cry, she turns to him, gives him her ' _don't wait up_ ' wink. Oh.

"Since when," Clint asks.

"Have you seen their asses?" she whispers.

With a wave of her hand, she spins toward where Sam and Steve are waiting near the door, and grips their buttocks just as they're walking out. Steve yelps and Sam stumbles. Tasha throws a thumbs up over her shoulder before they're out of sight.

"Are they gonna get eaten?" James asks.

Clint shrugs, still taken aback.

"Where did this come from?" follows from Bucky.

Clint shrugs again.

"Well, they do have nice asses," James returns.

Bucky tilts his head pensively. "Steve's is better," he says.

Clint snatches his beer bottle and leans back between them.

"Sam just wears looser pants," James counters.

Bucky hums, unconvinced.

"Steve's ass over Sam's," Clint offers, "Sam's pecs over Steve's, and their biceps are tied."

Both twins turn to him, surprised.

"What," Clint says, "I have eyes. They're good looking guys," he waves in explanation. "But not as pretty as you two," he smirks, and the pleased smiles he gets from them are warming.

Clint leans back up to place the bottle on the table, taps at his cheeks with his index fingers.

"Come on," he says.

The matching pecks he receives make his heart flutter.

Yeah, this is perfect. Whole.

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> [Here be cupcakes.](http://intermittently-ava.tumblr.com/)  
>  Thank you for reading. As always, your feedback gives me giggles and happy feelings. (^_^)


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